The Wanderers
by asilentherald
Summary: Castiel has died many times, but not quite like this. He wakes to an earth where humankind is dead; heaven, hell, and purgatory are a mess of blurred lines. But he finds he is not alone, and not the only one asking questions: Adam Milligan. Together they work to understand what happened, fix the world, and find the men they loved and lost. Canon AU, spoilers thru s8; destiel, midam
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Castiel is familiar with death and the torture of coming back to life. He will never truly understand the reason why he keeps coming back, even when he thinks he is done and he deserves the peace and silence of eternal rest. For a couple of deaths, Castiel felt unsatisfied with his end, like he wished he could have stayed a little longer to do something more. Most times, he expected to die, like when they tried to stop the apocalypse or when the Leviathan clung to his insides with their dripping black claws. With his most recent demise, Castiel did not expect it at all.

He and Dean and Sam were in battle. Castiel felt good, like he was back in the swing of being topside, like he was doing something right, for once. He had dealt with his sins as best he could in purgatory, and even though deep down he knew it wasn't quite enough, Castiel chose to stow his crap and deal with their current problems. He was back on earth with the humans (with _his_ humans) to help them, and that was what was important. It was the time to fight, and in that particular battle they fought to the point where victory was on their teeth.

They had fought many other fights like that one, but it ended so unlike the others, mostly because Castiel, with Dean an arm's length away, felt the blade pierce his back and emerge right in the middle of his chest, tearing through the middle of his tie. The glow of his grace blinded him, but not before he saw Dean turn around. Castiel caught one glimpse before, like a forceful, content exhale, all the lights around him faded. For once, death felt truly final for him, and he could accept it. The last thing Castiel saw was Dean Winchester, and even though his face was painted with horror, his lips forming a single horrible syllable, Castiel was glad he at least had that in death, no matter how selfish a comfort it was.

Castiel felt he had done his job; he had helped the Winchesters to the best of his abilities. He felt that, after all he had gone through, after all the times he had bled for his friends and his cause, he deserved the peace of death. So when Castiel woke to a cold blue sky and air that smelled far more like damp fallen leaves than the promised fragrance of intoxicating cleanliness (at least according to stories his brothers told him back in the day), he could not help but be furious.

* * *

Castiel has been wandering for days, searching for signs of life. Wherever he is, he knows it is not the earth he left behind, nor purgatory, nor heaven or hell. There is no one, neither monsters nor men. Every house he examines is empty; every car is covered with refuse and rust. When he searched the globe for human life, hardly a blip registered. Upon returning to the ground, however, Castiel felt weak, and he realized that he is not as strong as he thought.

In near-panic, he rushes to heaven, desperate for _someone_, but he finds the place as deserted as earth.

"Hello?" he called, walking the halls of one of the heavens that his garrison used to frequent. Castiel recalls very clearly how he had slaughtered the brothers and sisters who had not bowed down to him. He knows that those who remained were those who, in his mad, power-drunk state, he had deemed his allies. They loved humanity, too, and were glad for the averted End. In those empty halls, Castiel still regrets and feels a familiar desolation tug down on the space on his back between his wings.

Yet, the halls are entirely empty. All of them. All the angels are gone, even the ones he had spared. He finds signs of struggle, but they only remain because no one bothered to clean them up upon leaving the battlefield. It is clear that the remaining angels were no match for whomever came to slaughter them.

_Or send them away. They might not be dead_, Castiel reminds himself occasionally.

Castiel searches as much of heaven as possible for any signs of what happened, but he found very little apart from the empty armory. It was there where Castiel had put all the weapons Balthazar had stolen back during the civil war. Castiel found it empty but for a thick coat of dust. By the time he finishes at the armory, he starts to feel unwell, for numerous reasons. Confused and exhausted, Castiel returns to earth where he at least can be among life, even if not human life.

Since his trip to heaven, Castiel has been exploring this new earth on foot. He knows that with the angels gone he is weak and will grow even weaker with time. He knows he must use his powers carefully. He can hardly feel his wings, which at first felt like dead weight. Now they feel like wispy leaves about to break off a tree branch. At the same time, he begins to hunger after a few weeks. He needs water from time to time. When it rains, he feels the cold as the wind runs under his arms along his sides.

Worst of all, Castiel has nothing to do but wonder about what became of Dean and Sam and how their battle ended. After approximately two months of aimless meandering across the North American continent, Castiel decides to return to his final battlefield.

It is dark when he hears the explosion, even though he sees the light first. The magnitude of it makes it difficult for Castiel to gauge how far away he is from the disturbance. The pure white light fades only after several minutes of deafening silence. Only once the birds clear away and the trees settle down again does Castiel sense something. It comes on slowly, and then with the strength of a hurricane. He falls to his knees, landing in mud, and holds his head. His vision clouds; he can hardly feel the ground beneath him. Castiel cries out, the pain forcing him prone on the ground.

Abruptly it all ends. He raises his head and his eyes adjust to the darkness. There is a strange tension in the air, something electric and vital running between the trees, and it is all focused on him. He looks up. The night sky is clear. For a few minutes, Castiel feel some relief. As soon as he stands to keep moving, however, he hears the darkness come alive, and not in the way that Castiel wishes it would. He moves through the trees, careful not to trip, but his heart races and he can hardly watch where he runs without looking back to ensure that nothing is about to snap at his heels.

The woods thin out and he finds himself close a small town, judging by the number of building. He runs down the main street, searching for any store that might have weapons of any sort. At the end of the third block, there is a gun shop. Castiel grabs a pistol and a box of rounds; he loads the gun, watching through the window of the shop. His breathing slows and becomes more regular.

_How has it come to this?_ he wonders, staring at the palpable darkness beyond the window.

Castiel turns around and walks to the back of the store where he finds staircase behind a door. Upstairs is the home of the owner, wherever the man is. There is a kitchen with food and a bedroom, complete with unmade bed, closet of clean clothes, and a stack of half-read books. Castiel gingerly lowers himself onto the bed. It creaks under his weight. He looks at it and can feel the echoes of the happy couple that once lived here with their potted jalapeno plants and vacation scrapbooks filled with photos of far-off places taken off the internet.

"There is no world to travel now," Castiel murmurs as he puts one of the books back on the shelf. He rubs his sore eyes. He is tired, especially of the running. Castiel looks at the stacks of canned food in the pantry. "I don't know what to do with these."

He does not even want to use them, not when they remind him so clearly of one of his last good memories with Sam and Dean.

* * *

He and the Winchesters had cooked a dinner after a tough day. They had gotten the information they needed, and they had killed all the demons they had encountered along the way to that information. Instead of deep-fried diner food, Sam suggested they actually make something.

"What? A real meal isn't that hard to make," Sam said.

"Right. And, uh, how many recipes do you know, Bobby Flay?" Dean asked, pulling a beer out of the fridge.

"Plenty," he said, jabbing a finger toward his laptop. Dean conceded, draining half of his beer, and agreed, so long as he didn't have to eat Sam's rabbit food.

Castiel remembers the dinner fondly, especially the preparation. Dean and Sam used their knives to cut up vegetables, for once. Castiel had been given the duty of boiling the broth. Cas stared at the knobs and dials on the stove.

"Dean—"

"What now?"

He stopped cutting the eggplant and walked over to the stove. Castiel remembered posing the problem: that he didn't understand the notations on the dials and how exactly the broth was supposed to boil on the coil if it would simply evaporate if he poured in onto the stove. That was when Dean started laughing.

"Here."

He filled the pot with water from the tap and put in on the back right burner. Dean turned one of the knobs and a flame jumped up, lathering the bottom of the pot.

"Simple enough, right?" he asked.

"I suppose."

"Cas, you could have just used your angel mojo," Dean said pointedly. "Boiling water can't be that hard when you've got the power of God at your fingertips."

"I know," he said, mildly ruffled, "but I want to learn."

"What? Human things?" he asked, surprised. "Why the hell would you want to do that?"

Cas shrugged, even though he knew very well why. He turned away and watched the pot, giving it a little boost when Dean and Sam sounded ready to put the vegetables in the broth.

* * *

Now Castiel boils some water, though he does nothing with it. He watches it bubble on the counter. After a moment, he plunges his hand into the scalding water and holds it there. He feels nothing, and for that time, he has a little hope. Castiel pulls his hand out of the water and sees it red and mildly blistered. He watches the redness recede and starts to regret using some of his _angel mojo_ so carelessly. Frustrated, he shuts off the lights, leaves the kitchen, and settles on the mess of sheets on the bed. Castiel closes his eyes; it is almost as dark as when his eyes are open. He has no choice but to try and sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The pounding wakes him, naturally. Castiel rolls quickly out of bed, old muscles flexing again. He thinks twice and takes the gun in his hand. He waits by the door of the apartment, listening. It is quiet beyond the door, but Castiel can sense the presence of others. He swiftly throws the door open and points the gun. The human lunges at him, snarling and slashing. The knife catches Castiel's arm as he struggles out of the human's grip. Castiel points the gun and shoots the man in the center of his head. He crumbles, revealing more, all vaguely discolored and not the least bit human at all. Castiel takes them all down, thankful for the bits of weapons training he gained from the Winchesters during the months following his previous resurrection.

When they stop coming, he goes downstairs and looks out the front door. It is early morning, but he knows that will not stop the only inhabitants he has found on earth so far. The attack only confuses him more. Castiel takes the whole box of rounds with him and leaves the gun shop.

He walks down the main street, looking more carefully at the shops now. There is a bar on the other end of the block. Castiel takes note. Further down the way, Castiel finds an animal clinic. He pokes his head in the door and sees blood on the floor. He winds his way further into the facility, treading carefully in the darkness. Castiel's leg catches on a cart. He stumbles and a few empty boxes hit the ground. The entire cart has been emptied of its contents. Castiel searches each room; it is clear that someone else has been in the clinic, and has taken all the medical supplies.

Back on the street, Castiel sees no signs of the humans who attacked him. He continues walking down the street, peering down every alley, but he still sees no one. He decides the number of humans he killed fit the feeling of foreboding he had after he heard the explosion.

_It doesn't make sense. Why aren't there more? Why aren't they attacking me?_

He decides to return to the gun shop. Castiel takes his time dragging the bodies out and piling them up on the street. One of the last bodies is that of a teenager, probably no older than fifteen. He pries open one of the eyes; the cornea is stained black, as if the boy's blood were that color. Castiel presses his hand to the boy's chest, but he cannot feel anything but the meat and his shirt. He cannot see anything but the obvious. For a moment he considers using what power he had left to try to understand what had happened to these humans, but he decides against it. There were so few of them, and no signs of others, that it seemed hardly worth the effort. Resigned, Castiel places the last body with the rest before returning to the apartment.

He finds a messenger bag in the depths of the closet and stars filling it with anything he thinks he might use: knives, lighters and matches, a map, and even a bottle of water or two. He stares at the plastic and a bubble of anger hits him in the throat, which only makes him angrier. Downstairs, Castiel stuffs the bag with ammunition and a few guns. He tucks the one he had been carrying around in his belt before swinging the bag over his shoulder and departing.

The town beyond the gun shop consists of empty houses and unkempt lawns. Castiel is still trying to understand what had happened in the time between his death and his return, and how much time had passed. He tries remembering the details of the battle, but every time he hits a wall, an actual block between him and his most recent death. Castiel leaves the town along a barren highway. Fog sets in, curling around his legs. He walks on, still straining to remember, tapping at that block in his mind. He hopes he will remember more once he arrives at the battleground.

When night settles, Castiel decides to stop to rest for a little while. Moreover, it is to calm down. The weight of his solitude is starting to weigh on him. He almost wants to leave earth and go back to heaven, to a place he at least knows, but he knows he never would. He knows that, in the end, he always wanted to die among his Father's most perfect creations, even if they were all gone.

He sparks a fire, not bothering to use a match. Castiel settles around the flames and draws his fragile wings close to his body. He is starting to miss his coat. When he woke, he was on the cold, wet ground in the middle of an open field, surrounded by fallen leaves and empty trees. He wore his same old white shirt and his tie and his slacks, but his trench coat was nowhere to be found. Castiel searched, even, but he had no luck. He removed the tie, which still bore a bloodstain from the angel blade running him through, even though the hole was gone. Castiel still had it, but he almost felt sick when he saw it. It was just a reminder of what he could not remember.

* * *

Castiel does not realize he falls asleep, since angels do not need it. When he wakes, he feels better than he did the previous day, which only troubles him more deeply. His grace is still with him, but he cannot deny that with every day, it thins out further in his shaking hands. He walks all day, and all night, as if to prove that he _is_ still an angel, that humanity has not finally caught up to him. At the end of his walk, close to dawn, Castiel drops to his knees, palms planted on the wet asphalt. His arms shake, holding up his weight. He is breathing quickly, and he can feel his feet throb now that they are not supporting him. Pebbles dig into his knees through his slacks.

A light appears ahead of him. Castiel knows the human myth of a light at the end of the tunnel. Death, it turns out, is much simpler than a light and a tunnel; it is just an exhale, and a settling of darkness, like a blanket of snow, silent and calm. It is a release. Castiel knows this. When he sees the light, though, he almost hopes it is his end, his _true_ end. He cannot imagine forcing his way through this wasteland of a world for the rest of his angelic life, however long that might be.

But then the light pulses more and more brightly until its pure whiteness fills the whole area around Castiel. A cool wind runs straight down the road, forcing him off the ground and onto his legs. Castiel lets the air run through him and he breathes deeply. The air makes him feel stronger. He rises to his full height and straightens up. He fixes his shirt, takes his messenger bag, and starts to walk again. He feels no pain in his feet, no ache in his knees or exhaustion in his shoulders and chest. Instead, he stretches his wings, which feel ten times stronger than they have since returning to earth.

It is clear to Castiel what strengthened him: another angel's grace.

He walks on, invigorated, pausing from time to time to check the map. He keeps to the road, searching for signs of the grace while heading for the site of the battle.

_There are other angels. Or, at least, there were, _he muses. _If I can find the grace…._

The thoughts halt. What then? Castiel recalls the way he felt in the days and weeks before his death. Those feelings have not left him, but there seems to be little point to his previous desires now.

_Dean._

To his left stands the last motel he had stayed in with the Winchesters. It was there that they had put together the one proper meal Castiel saw them consume in a long time—the one where he had needed Dean's help with boiling the broth.

* * *

"You know, this isn't much of a meal," smiled Sam. He scooped up some of the vegetables in their stew. Dean tore off a chunk of bread from the loaf on the table and used it to scoop up the soup.

"I dunno, Sammy. I'd say it's pretty high class for us," he grinned back, taking a swig of his beer. Dean looked over at Cas, who was slowly draining his bowl of soup. "Like it?"

Cas nodded.

"The taste is rather… pleasing."

"Good. You've gotta do stuff that just makes you feel good sometimes, right? Even if you don't need it," Dean said happily. He finished off his beer and went to get another. "Want one?"

"Oh, I don't—"

"Come on, Cas! We're celebrating! Have a drink."

"I already don't need the food, Dean," Cas said. "Keep your beer."

Dean returned with two beers anyway. He held it out. Cas still hesitated.

"Take it if you want it."

"I—"

"Here," he said, opening Cas's hand for him and placing the beer in his grip. Dean snapped the bottle cap off and tapped his beer against Cas's, then Sam's. "The hunt," he said. Sam nodded and took a mouthful of beer. Cas sipped his carefully, the bottle much colder on his lips than Cas had expected; Dean, watching out of the corner of his eye, smirked.

"I wish I could enjoy this," Cas murmurs. "I do, but not in the same way you do. Angels cannot feel the way humans do."

"Yeah, but, humanity's not all it's cracked up to be, Cas," Sam said. "You've seen firsthand."

"No one is exempt from suffering, it seems, not if we want some kind of rest in death," Cas replied. Dean snorted.

"Rest in death? We'll never find rest," Dean said. "We're damned, aren't we? After all we've done here?"

"I wouldn't say so."

"Come on, Cas, rest's not in the job description, remember?" Sam said, shaking his head. "Nah. Heaven's there, but I wouldn't bet on having a place there now."

"That's not what I meant. You have a chance at rest; you are humans, and all you do is fight. Can't you see that death is just the sleep you deserve?"

"Not if it's on the rack downstairs," scoffed Dean. "Sorry, Cas, but all this afterlife stuff is a bit of a moot point, seeing as we've got all the passport stamps now."

Cas stood and moved toward the door.

"Cas, hey! Where're—?"

He was gone before Dean finished his sentence.

* * *

Castiel sits in the same chair where he had drained that soup. The bowls are still in the sink, some covered in mold and dead flies. He remembers returning to them cleaning up, deciding to wash the rest of dishes after the next day's excursion. In the fridge, Castiel finds take-out they never ate and the last beer. He pops the cap off and takes a sip. It feels different than the previous times he consumed alcohol. The taste is clearer and the smell is more pungent, but in a good way. He enjoys the light bubbling the beer leaves as it goes down.

Castiel takes a few mouthfuls as he makes his way across the motel room toward the beds; they are unmade. There is even a duffle bag on the floor. He places it on the bed and it opens up. It was left unzipped. There are numerous shirts (many are plaid) and jeans. Castiel tosses the bag aside, pushing the image of the dusty bag out of his mind. He looks in the bathroom; the razors and toothbrushes still balance precariously on the edge of the sink. Castiel closes the door behind him and returns to the kitchen. He sits at the table and drinks his beer slowly, wishing he had more.

He knows he is close to the battleground. Castiel almost wants to get away from the motel and find somewhere else to make camp, and yet he does not want to leave behind the echoes of his friends. Of all the things in the room to get him worked up, the beds are the worst, and the ones he cannot escape.

* * *

Sam had not slept well that night. He remembers sitting on the couch and watching Sam get out of bed and walk to the fridge for yet another beer. Dean, on the other hand, was out cold, flat on his stomach with his arms twisted around the pillows. He and Sam watched and smiled, wondering how he could be so calm, all of a sudden. Castiel was glad the lights were out, for he knew Sam was well aware of why Dean could sleep so well, and so was he.

"Where did you go earlier? During dinner," Sam asked. Castiel shrugged noncommittally. "Heaven?"

"Possibly."

"Look, sorry if all that talk about death and having rest didn't sit well," Sam started, but Cas shut him up quickly.

"Sam, don't apologize. My anxieties about my fate are not something I should have brought up over dinner."

"Did you go to heaven to talk to someone who knows about this?" Sam asked.

"Angelic death is… complicated. We know where everyone else goes yet very few of us know where we go," Cas explained. "I searched for someone old enough to know, but so many of those who would have known are gone, dead at my hand."

"Don't—"

"Sam, please. I'm not," Cas said, holding up a hand. His hand dropped limply. "I only mean that so many of the wisest ones fell or disappeared during the Apocalypse or the civil war. It is partly my own fault, and that is fact, Sam."

He did not say anything to Cas. Sam drank his beer and nodded at Cas to continue.

"I did find one. He told me many things, and most were gibberish. I believe he lost touch with our reality sometime during the aftermath of the Apocalypse's aversion. He began with the anatomy of the reproductive organs of pine trees, but eventually he came to give me some information."

"And?"

"Our grace is what makes us angels, which is because of God. My Father has been gone for so long that it's possible that he no longer dictates where our grace goes."

"But why would you think that? Why not heaven, or purgatory?"

"We have vessels. We come from heaven, but heaven is for you—for humans. Our grace does not come to earth, and I did not encounter any angels in purgatory. I cannot imagine the awkwardness and ill feelings that would have ensued."

Sam shrugged, agreeing.

"So, what, then?"

"The angel believed that our grace simply becomes part of Creation on a whole. It is possible it returns to God, or to some other specific form of His Creation, but the angel seemed certain that we do not have an afterlife the way that you do, Sam."

"I just don't get why God wouldn't have a place for you guys. Leviathan have a place."

"Yes, but they're monsters. God locked them away in purgatory. We're his soldiers. We get our rest in our endless lives, Sam. By serving, we are satisfied, while for so many of His other creations, the satisfaction comes with completion of life."

"I guess so."

Sam finishes off his beer.

"Right, well, I think you've tired me out now, Cas. G'night."

"Good night, Sam," Cas said, though his eyes rested on the other sleeping Winchester. He looked away quickly and acknowledged Sam, who only shook his head with a slight smile and returned to his bed. Cas tried curling up on the couch, figuring he would try to relax for the night, but it was no use. He did not need it, not as an angel. He was more certain than ever that he wanted to change that—only he never got the opportunity, as the following day was his last.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Castiel takes the key to the motel room with him when he leaves. He digs the metal into his fingertips in his pocket as he walks into town. As with the other towns, every building is deserted. The closer he comes to the battleground, the stronger the buzz in the air. Castiel cannot discern if it is because of the tension in his core or because of something entirely separate from him.

The warehouse is at the far end of one of the major roads that runs off the main street of the town. Huge chunks of metal and glass still litter the ground even before the building comes into view. The mess in his mind confuses Castiel even further.

_How can I remember this so clearly, and even the night before my death—I can even remember the moment when I got hit. Yet everything in between is a blur._

Castiel climbs over the remnants of the exterior wall of the warehouse through the gaping hole and enters the main holding area. He sees the bodies. Some faces are familiar, though not too familiar. He decides he must have killed them, going by their emptied expressions. It still vaguely smells of sulfur. Castiel crosses the massive space, pausing to examine one of the rotting bodies. He still cannot decide how much time has passed since the battle.

When he stands, the light in the window catches his eye. It illuminates a fading sigil once drawn in fresh blood. He stares as he circles toward it. Castiel's foot hits something hard and he almost trips. He hardly notices. When he straightens up, he knows exactly where he is because it is one of the few moments of the battle he recalls: his end. There Dean Winchester stood, light pouring in behind him, surrounding him in the most beautiful light Castiel had ever witnessed. He held Dean's eye as the blade pierced him cleanly from back to front. He watched Dean's face shift from the almost senseless blazing high of the kill to all the senses kicking in at once and bursting through his body in one short word.

"_No!"_

The word resounds as if Castiel is still listening to the echo. He hears it in the dead silence in the woods, even when he is not thinking about Dean. He cannot shake it. Part of him does not want to, since it is the clearest memory of Dean, but why did it have to be one so painful, one that made him feel such anguish?

_It makes me feel, so maybe that is why I cannot let it go. It is all I have left to feel now._

Castiel does not remember hitting the ground. He looks down; there is no blood or anything even to indicate that this spot is where he died. He looks around and sees what he had kicked aside: the blade that had fallen out of his hand. The release had been thoughtless; the impact with the floor had been loud enough to shatter all the windows. Castiel picks up the blade. It feels the same, as though he expected it to be as different as he is. He stuffs it in his messenger bag.

He does not know if he should return to their motel room. Castiel is not certain he would feel comfortable there, what with every single thing reminding him of the friends who never made it home. Suddenly, Castiel has a thought. He stands up—not certain when he decided to sit on the floor of the warehouse—and takes a few steps before his shoe steps on something alien. He steps back and cold confusion runs over Castiel. The old amulet, the little brass horned head, sits submerged in a puddle. He draws it out from the water; the amulet turns black in his hands, but otherwise remains intact.

Castiel quickly leaves the warehouse, stashing the amulet in his pocket. The further he gets from the warehouse, the colder the amulet feels through the fabric of his slacks.

* * *

As suspected, Castiel finds the Impala further down the road from the warehouse, just where Dean had left it. He wishes he knew how to drive it, even though he does not have the keys. The car always fascinated Castiel, especially now, so patiently waiting for its driver to return. Castiel pats its hood as if to reassure it.

_Dean,_ Castiel almost sighs. He extracts the amulet from his pocket again to examine it in the clear sunlight. It is cold as ice, and still black as coal. Castiel tries to rub the blackness off the brass head but hardly anything comes off on his thumb.

He decides in the end to make the motel room his base, even though he is not certain why he is even lingering in the town. He can still feel the buzz he felt when leaving the warehouse. It makes him nervous. On top of that, Castiel has not forgotten the grace, or the explosion that almost made his head cleave.

He sits at the table in the dark motel room running the cord of the amulet through his fingers over and over, wondering what he should do. There are too many questions and not enough routes to answers. More than ever in the last two months Castiel feels entirely alone, and more than ever he wishes he had his friends at his side. He starts to realize how weak he is. The grace's power had strengthened him, but that strength is quickly waning. Castiel holds his forehead with the heels of his hands. He wipes away a line of sweat. His hands come off shaking.

By the time he resolves to leave the motel, darkness already tinges the clear sky. A couple of stars hang over the trees, but in all other respects, night is distant. Castiel walks briskly against the cold air. He finds a church near the center of the town, just past the road leading to the warehouse. His ears ring as he heaves the heavy wooden doors open, but as soon as he crosses the threshold, there is untouched, pristine silence.

_It feels more like heaven than heaven itself_, he muses as he walks down the central aisle. It is an old church, though nothing compared to the ones in Europe. Wooden beams support the arching, pointed ceiling. A tarnished organ looms over the back of the church as Castiel reaches the cross of the wings and turns around to behold the nave in its entirety. He turns back around and heads straight for the altar, stopping short at the steps. He lowers himself to his knees and gazes up at the crucifix. The bleeding Christ serenely gazes upward toward heaven in his last moments of human life.

"Father…," Castiel starts, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "I don't understand any of this. I never pretended to understand Your Will; I always accepted It. I did everything You wanted me to do, and yes—I _do_ think rebelling was what You planned for me. But now… is this punishment for the destruction I caused? Or for—for the desires I had in the weeks before I died? Is this your way of finally saying, _no, Castiel, that's enough; free will only goes so far for a creature like you_?"

He stands and takes a step upward.

"Why would You do this to Your Creation? Why—how could You let this happen?" he says, his voice rising. "I did what I thought was right: I loved humanity. I still _love_ it, and You took it away. Did You?"

Castiel takes a couple of steps back. He throws his arms wide open and shouts, "Did You do this? Why would You bring me back to see this hell of a world? I just want to know WHY!"

The ground shakes, and fire begins to spill out from between the flagstones. The walls are all ablaze, and the flames surround the Christ overhead. All the windows are black and cracked. Castiel, though, in the middle of the fire, is untouched. He runs a hand through the flames and still he does not feel the fire.

"_Castiel,"_ a voice says.

He looks up. Castiel can only imagine that the voice comes from above. He starts to feel something hot on him, but he pays no attention to it. His eyes are fixed on a point above the cross, his mouth open ever so slightly.

"Yes."

"_This is a mistake in the past that can be righted in the present. Find your kin, and save them, for my hands have been severed."_

"I don't understand—"

The fires quickly subside. The church is exactly as it was moments before. Castiel rises, looking around. He still feels something hot; he reaches into pocket and finds the amulet burning hot. His mind suddenly clears, his vision goes white, and he hears the voice again:

"_You have your guide at your disposal, if you choose to be guided."_

Castiel, in the end, chooses to be guided to the liquor store down the street.

* * *

He has been in the town for several days, mostly fluctuating between walking around while listening to the buzz and sitting in the motel room drinking his way past a buzz. Castiel has taken to wearing the amulet. It is still black, and it has been cold as ice since his visit to the church, which he has avoided ardently. Sometimes he thinks he feels it heat up when he approaches the warehouse, but Castiel usually concludes that it is all still part of the sick joke through which he is suffering. There is no other explanation, he decides. The world is empty; why should God still be around, and why should He have anything to say to Castiel now, after all this time?

Castiel drains a bottle of whiskey before tossing it aside. It shatters carelessly. He keeps looking back at the duffle bag with the clothes and starts to wonder if he would be more comfortable in the flannel than in his shirt and slacks. His clothes were getting dirty and were increasingly uncomfortable. Castiel stands up, a little shaky, and crosses the room. He throws the bag open and pulls out an old blue shirt and a pair of jeans. The shirt is soft, and he realizes it smells faintly of the Impala.

He drops the clothes on the bed. The amulet feels warm on his skin, but he thinks nothing of it. Castiel abandons the thought and instead leaves the motel. He is tired, and he has not properly slept since his return.

_I don't need to sleep. I am an angel._

Down the road Castiel marches, his frustration building up again. He sees the church and turns hard left down toward the warehouse. His ears ring but he cannot care, even if it is even more intense than before. The metal seems to melt on his chest, and only once it starts to sear does Castiel stop and rip it off his neck. The amulet glows intensely, pulsating heat. The closer he moves to the warehouse, the more intensely it burns. He frowns; the amulet has done nothing since the incident in the church, even near the warehouse.

He steps over the familiar rubble. Wings bristling, Castiel tenses. Something is different. He reaches instinctively for his blade and realizes that in his mild stupor he left the motel unarmed.

Something cracks in the shadows. Castiel stops in the middle of the warehouse, not far from the spot where he was last killed. He is beside the puddle where he found the amulet; much of the water has been displaced. Castiel quietly takes a knife from one of the bodies.

"Hello?" he says.

There is more crunching and gentle rustling in the shadows.

"Show yourself," Castiel continues, approaching the shadowed end of the warehouse cautiously. He holds the blade out in front of him.

"Put that knife down," a voice demands. It is a young male voice. "I'm unarmed."

Castiel lowers it, but he does not relinquish the blade.

"I won't harm you," he says slowly. "I'm alone."

"I can't see you well."

"You sound troubled."

"Well, I'm stuck in this hole," he says. "That's troubling to me."

Castiel tosses his knife aside and strides into the shadows. He sees that there is a massive crater in the ground, presumably from the battle, though Castiel does not remember it. In one of the wider parts of the crack the rocks crumbled and formed more of a pit. Down in the pit, there is a boy in his late teens who looks rather annoyed. Castiel offers a hand and pulls the boy out with ease. They both step into the light.

It is Adam Milligan, the half-Winchester presumably condemned to an eternity in hell with Michael and Lucifer—and he is wearing Castiel's bloodied trench coat.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"I, uh—" Castiel starts.

"Got it," Adam says. He starts taking off the coat. "This is yours."

"How are you here?" Castiel asks, taking the coat numbly.

"You mean not in hell where I'm supposed to be?" he snorts. "Apparently I got out."

"You were never meant to be in hell," Castiel tries to assure him. "You were meant to be in heaven, at peace."

"Yeah, well, that plan didn't seem so great to Zach, did it?" Adam says. He starts walking; Castiel follows. "That wasn't the first time you pulled me out of the ground. You were the one who found me, right?"

Castiel nods.

"So where are Sam and Dean? I think I owe them a kick or two."

"Gone."

"Well, take me to them."

"Adam… they're dead, just like everyone else," Castiel says. It is the first time he actually admits that the Winchesters are _dead_, that humanity is _dead_. Adam does not seem able to respond, so Castiel goes on. "It is a complicated story."

"So is mine," Adam says. He pauses. "Really? All of them?"

"How long have you been out of hell?"

"A while, but not so long up here."

"What do you mean?" Castiel frowns. He stops walking. Adam, a few steps ahead, turns around to face the fading angel.

"This world's a mess, Cas. Heaven, hell, purgatory, earth—it's all one big mess."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's all one thing. The lines in between are all fucked up. I didn't just get out of the cage; I _climbed_ out of hell, and kept going 'til I was out here, on earth."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Castiel murmurs. After a pause he asks, "Who opened the cage?"

"I dunno. It was like waking up one morning and finding all the walls gone," Adam says, shaking his head. They continue walking, presumably toward the motel. "I heard this… this voice the other day. I was hiding out in the woods, and a voice started speaking to me, except it was just in my head."

"What did it say?" Castiel asked, his heart starting to beat faster.

"Your name, then some other things I didn't really get. Something about finding things."

"This is very strange," he murmurs.

"When I heard your name, I figured you were still around somewhere. So I started walking around. I found the warehouse and it's a fucking mess, so I started poking around. I found your coat. It was all bloody, but I tried washing it out; I dunno how much good that did."

"Thank you," Castiel says. "Adam, you have to tell me everything that happened."

"Only if you fill me in on what's been going on topside. I think I missed a bit while bonding with the archangels in hell, but I could be wrong," he says flatly.

"Adam…."

"Fine, fine. We won't do this now, but I swear, we're gonna talk about it sometime."

"We have all the time in the world, it seems."

"That's kinda fucked up, though."

"I suppose. Do you want to come to the motel?"

Adam looks mildly surprised, but he nods. They walk the rest of the way in silence. Castiel holds the door for Adam as they enter the motel room. They sit quietly at the table, both with their chairs pulled a little further away from the table than necessary. Castiel lights a couple of candles, even though even such simple acts drain him.

"Mood lighting?" Adam jokes. Castiel does not crack a smile. "Okay, then. Let's talk, man to angel."

"I'm hardly an angel now."

"How do you mean?" he asks, frowning now.

"When I came back… I felt my grace was not intact. The more I live, the weaker I feel. I think it is because of my grace fading."

"But why would it do that?"

"Angels are not much more than men without grace, though I do not think we are nearly as good at making decisions as you," he adds. "Free will is something we have now, too—we _had._ I wanted so much for my brothers and sisters to understand that we answer to ourselves since our Father is no longer interested in his Creation."

_Though I'm not so sure now,_ Castiel says silently.

"Right, so, that didn't work out," Adam says. He looks at the fridge. "You got any food?"

"No, just alcohol."

"That's fine."

Adam pours whiskey into a tumbler and says, "I've missed a lot," to which Castiel nods. "Give me the sparknotes version."

"The what?"

"Just—the general idea. Until the details are important."

Castiel quickly glazes over the events since the aversion of the apocalypse while Adam works his way through two glasses of whiskey.

"Good stuff," he says, holding up the glass and sitting back. "The story, too. Yeah, I missed a lot, but that's not really my fault, is it, Cas?"

"No," he says.

"Right. If we ever find Dean, we're gonna have a talk about breaking down doors."

Castiel smiles slightly. It was not a good time for him and Dean when they lost Adam. Only after Dean turned around and escaped Michael's grasp did he start to believe in Dean Winchester again. The theme of breaking their bond and rebuilding it more intensely than before was recurrent, especially after that.

"I truly am sorry for what happened. I did not believe—"

"Cut it, Cas; I get it. Dean turned around on all of us."

"He did not intend to damn you to hundreds of years with Michael and Lucifer."

Adam shrugs. "It could have been a lot worse, I think."

"I don't understand. Living with two furious archangels in the deepest corner of hell seems extremely unpleasant."

"They got over themselves, once you pulled Sam out," Adam says. "Mind if I have another?"

"No. Adam—"

"We'll get there. What about when you died, the last time?"

Castiel has been dreading this part, yet he wants to tell this story most dearly.

"Dean escaped purgatory, and I was left behind," he begins. "I found myself back on earth with the Winchesters somehow. I did not know how, though. Rather than dwell, I decided to focus on the Winchesters' cause."

Castiel stops short. Adam motions for him to continue; he is amused by Castiel's conflicted expression.

"The plan was to close the gates of hell forever. There was a tablet, and a prophet. We were in the process of finding them. Crowley had captured the prophet and the tablet a couple of weeks before we came here."

"Hold up, you were gonna lock me up down there _forever?_" Adam yells, slamming his glass down. He leans back on his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, concealing a cold, shocked grin. "Man, I knew they didn't care, but that's just sick."

"Adam, it was more than that," Castiel says. "We were trying to rid earth of all demons. Permanently."

"Right, so the greater good outweighed their flesh and blood? That's fucking messed up, considering how often they're saving each other's asses," Adam shouts, standing up. He reaches for a coat, but realized that Castiel was wearing the only one he had. Castiel quickly moves to offer Adam the coat. "No, stop. Just, don't be so damn nice."

"I'm—"

"And stop fucking apologizing! God!" he says, throwing his arms in the air. Adam, breathing heavily, steps back and leans against the counter. "Did they forget about me?"

"No," Castiel says, but his uncertainty is plain.

"Cas…."

"I don't think they ever forgot," he presses, "but it would have been too difficult. Sam… he came back without a soul when I retrieved him, and it nearly destroyed him once he was whole."

"So I was dead in your eyes," Adam says. He looks directly at Castiel. "Right?"

"It's not so simple."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Y'know, I remember when you came for Sam. We hadn't been down there that long, compared to the full jail term," Adam says, making his way back to the table. "You just swept in and grabbed Sam, but you never noticed why it was so easy. Lucifer dragged Sam's soul out with him, and he messed with it. God. Mike and I did everything we could for him, but it was just… nightmarish."

"Michael?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy, though you probably know that."

"The Michael I knew was a fierce warrior and wholly devoted to our Father's Plan. He would have been truly murderous if he had been in that cage," Castiel says, sounding a little suspicious.

"No, that's what he was like at first. Trust me. I don't remember a lot about the early years but it's probably better that way. When Mike and I got out of the cage, he said he put up some kind of barrier to keep the worst of it out."

"A wall?" repeats Castiel.

"It doesn't matter much, since it's just a few years back there."

"And the cage—explain how you escaped."

"Well, one day, the cage was open."

"Open?"

"Yeah. The walls were gone down there. Hell was just a field waiting to be crossed."

"Someone truly powerful must have done this," Castiel says.

"Not as far as I remember," Adam says. "See, the only other person I ever saw down there was Death, when he came to get Sam's soul. Lucifer was spitting mad; it was hilarious. But Death said he could come back to talk, if I was willing to make some kind of deal with him. He never came. I thought Death let us out, but Mike didn't think so."

"Where is Michael?"

Adam's face shifts slightly.

"Not sure," he says, his voice a little thicker now. "Last I saw him was on the banks at the edge of hell. I think it was the water."

"What water?"

"I'm getting another drink if I'm explaining this now," Adam says. "Want one?"

"Just bring the bottle when you're done with it."

Adam makes a face, mildly impressed. He pours a glass for himself and slides the half-emptied bottle across the table to Castiel. He takes a long drink while Adam begins his explanation.

"See, we climbed right out the cage. Lucifer… well, we took care of him."

"How?"

"He's dead, Cas."

"But… how? The apocalypse—"

"It wouldn't happen if Mike wasn't the one who killed him," Adam says with a small smile. "Cas, maybe you didn't notice, but you came with a blade to get Sam and left without one."

"You _stole_ my blade?" Castiel gapes.

"Guess I'm going to hell for that?" Adam grins widely. "God, you have no idea how much I've wanted to tell someone that."

"Lucifer is dead," Castiel repeats. "You're certain?"

"Yup. Mike's plan was for me to kill him and capture his grace, and then use the extra strength to get out of the cage, but whoever opened it up beat us to Luci tried to run, I got him, and we got his grace. I dunno why you guys never just did that."

"Lucifer is a _powerful_ archangel—"

"He was."

There is a pause. Castiel drains the bottle to one-quarter full. Adam watches him with a strained look on his face.

"Look, I know he was your brother, but I figured it was still the right thing to do."

"No, I commend you for doing that," Castiel says, though he still looks troubled. "You did this after the cage opened?"

"Yeah."

"Then that is not what caused all this," he mutters. "I can't figure it out."

"You didn't finish your end of the story."

"Nor you."

"Yours is more relevant to why the fuck all this happened. My shit seems to be the effect."

"Of course," Castiel murmurs. "We were working toward finding the prophet, following whispers of demons working closely with Crowley. We did not know his plans for the boy."

"Did Crowley keep him alive?"

"I can't say."

"You never got to him?"

"No. This battle happened, and it wasn't supposed to be any different from the others. We'd been tracking these demons; they were quite high in Crowley's ranks. The day before we worked our way to one particular demon and we attained the information about where to find another particular demon, who was rumored to be the one who worked most closely with Crowley."

"What's wrong?" Adam asks.

"I cannot remember the details of the battle. I remember when we went to the warehouse, but it was a trap, all along. We had been following a very cleverly lain trail. It was almost as if Crowley knew many weeks in advance the moves we would make."

"He can't, though. He's just a demon, even if he's king of hell."

"I know," Castiel says. "Crowley, all along, has been our greatest enemy."

"You two had that spat."

"I wouldn't describe it so lightly."

"Did Crowley kill you?" Adam asks.

"I don't know. Whoever it was attacked me from behind."

"And Dean, and Sam? Where were they?"

"By my side. Dean was right in front of me when the blow came," Castiel says, closing his eyes. They feel tired.

"He was the last person you saw. Touching," Adam smirks. He starts to laugh as he watches Castiel's face. "Cas—oh, god, you're such a girl."

"Angels are not gender specific," Castiel says, frowning.

"Yeah, well, you're blushing like the girl I took to the prom! Ha!" Adam cries. "You and Dean?"

"Dean was my closest friend."

"Close, huh? Sounds like more than that."

"We are not discussing this," Castiel says firmly. "Dean is—Dean is _dead._ There is no use dwelling on the past."

"You know, I still love my mom, even though I haven't seen her in hundreds of years and she's been dead even longer. I'm just—Cas, love doesn't die when that person dies."

"I am an angel. We are not meant to or capable of experiencing love the way humans do."

"Huh," Adam says, crossing his arms and sliding down in his chair a little. "Fine. We'll drop it. So, some bastard stabbed you. Did Dean catch you?"

"I don't know," Castiel says. He can feel his face heat up unpleasantly. He takes another mouthful of whiskey. "I was already gone."

"And now you're here."

"Yes."

"You don't sound happy about it."

"Death is meant to be restful. It seems like my punishment for rebelling against heaven continues even now. I am as damned as an angel of the Lord can be."

"D'you remember anything about being dead?" Adam asks. "I remember being in heaven."

"Angels don't have a place, at least one known to us. I have seen the three levels of the afterlife and have never seen my fallen brothers and sisters. We simply… go. The grace leaves. We have no soul that wants to find rest."

"Bitter?"

"Um, a little, but I rather like the taste."

"No, no—you sound really pissed about all that."

"Oh. I accept my damnation now. That is all that matters."

Castiel finishes off the bottle. He walks to the fridge and pulls out two beers. Adam takes one, but he does not open it.

"You're not damned, Cas. You're still an angel."

"Not for long," Castiel sighs. "Adam, it pains me to admit it, but my grace is leaving me, and not in the way that would leave me human. I am dying."

"Dying?" he repeats. "Oh, hell no."

"All the angels are gone."

"Not Michael."

Casitel looks up from his bottle, which is already half empty.

"He's still here, remember?" Adam says, talking more quickly now. "If we find him, would you be okay?"

"Providing he still has his grace—oh," Castiel's eyes widen. Realization hits him hard. "Adam… I don't believe Michael has his grace anymore."

"What're you talking about? He pulled me right through most of hell, smiting bitches and bastards all the way. That's angel power."

"Yes, but that might not be the case anymore," Castiel says. "A few nights ago, I saw an angel's grace pulsate. I could not tell how far it was, only the direction. It healed me, though the effects did not last for more than a day. It left my grace thirsting for more. It left me weaker than ever. And a few days before that, there was a disturbance."

"Was it about a week ago?" Adam asks.

"Yes."

"That was when I got out of hell, and when I got separated from Mike. If he got out, could that've been the disturbance? Was it that kind of angelic disturbance?"

"I think so," Castiel says slowly. "Michael is here on earth with us."

Adam's face lights up instantly. Castiel looks at him strangely and Adam's smile hastily returns to an impassive line. He leans on his fist, but Castiel can still see the edges of a soft smile behind the boy's hand.

"I take it the news pleases you."

"Yeah," Adam says softly. "Yeah, it does. Mike's a friend."

Castiel does not reply. He knows his understanding of human emotions is not comprehensive, but it is plain to him that the friendship between Adam and Michael is close. If it is as close as Castiel's relationship with Dean was… Castiel is impressed at the very thought.

_Michael loved humanity, but he never put it before the Will of our Father. If this boy was able to change Michael, then he surely has some Winchester blood in him. It seems to be a gift the brothers have._

Had_. The brothers _had.

Castiel stands abruptly and walks to the bed. He takes the clothes he had pulled out earlier, discarding the trench coat on the bed. He moves for the bathroom when Adam makes a strange sound.

"Cas, stop. Your back's open."

"My back?"

"There's blood. It's fresh. Take your shirt off," Adam orders. Castiel fumbles with the buttons. Adam, impatient, rips the shirt open and spins Castiel around. "If Dean didn't get to do that first, I might feel a little weird."

Castiel leans forward slightly, as if to attempt to hide as much of his burning face behind his shoulders as possible. Adam laughs under his breath. Pain suddenly rips from the middle of Castiel's back straight up to his head. It gives a nasty throb and makes his eyes cloud up.

"Damn it," Adam breathes. He shoots across the room. Castiel twists around and watches Adam dig through his bag. He runs back across the room to the bed. "Don't move."

"What's wrong?"

"Shut up a minute."

Adam's fingers are cold on his back. He presses on his skin, which feels raw all of a sudden. Then, something narrow and cold and somewhat sharp presses into his skin. Castiel stifles a small gasp. Something alien moves in his back. Pain winds up slowly as something slides out at an agonizing pace.

"Almost—aha!"

It is as if a knife runs through him all over again. Castiel falls forward onto the bed, leaning on his elbows. Adam's panic is evident, but Castiel cannot hear anything. Something sharp pierces the skin around the gaping hole over and over until Castiel blacks out.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For a little while, Castiel thinks he is dying again. The shock feels the same, as does the glow around the edges of his eyes as they open. He knows he is still alive, though, when the light settles and the cracked ceiling comes into view. He attempts to sit up but falls back onto the pillows, groaning.

"Cas? Hey—"

"Dean?"

"Wrong brother," Adam quips, descending on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says, sitting up.

"This was in your back," Adam says, holding up a piece of metal with a pair of tweezers. Castiel holds out his hand. "Use the tweezers, in case it's got some anti-angel shit on it."

"This is a piece of an angel blade," Castiel says. His eyes widen as he holds the shard up to his face. Adam stares, jaw hanging.

"Has that been there since you died?" Adam gapes. "Shit, man, that's not normal."

"I did not think so," Castiel murmurs. "This explains why my grace has been slipping away so quickly. The disappearance of the angels could not have been the only source."

"I sutured it up," Adam says, nodding at the open medical kit at the end of the bed. "I nicked those from an animal hospital a couple of towns back."

"I see," mumbles Castiel. He remembers the hospital devoid of supplies. Adam's bag is bulging with rolls of gauze and bandages. "I was there, too. These humans attacked me, only they weren't human…."

"Shit," Adam says. "_You're_ the one who killed them?"

"I did."

"They followed me out of hell, or maybe out of purgatory. I don't know. All I know is they came topside right after I did, riding my ass. Mike and I were running from a couple of them in hell."

"What were they?"

"Mike thought they were meatsuits gone mad. Like, the demons or angels or whatever left them for dead and they didn't have souls left in them and they just… lost it. I didn't see a shred of humanity left in them."

"They were monsters."

"For sure," nods Adam. "So, if you were there when I was there, and now we're both here—where'd you wake up?"

"I was in a field. It smelled like fresh autumn, like it had just rained on the dead leaves. There were trees around the field. I walked through the forest, wandering aimlessly, until I came out near the road, and I followed it until I came to that town."

"That sounds like where I came up, too. More like I found that field once I started walking around, but I definitely crossed it!" Adam says excitedly. "Look, Cas, if we find Mike and get you two strong again, we can go back to where I came out."

"Why would we want to do that?" Castiel frowns.

"Dean! And Sam! If they're dead, we can go find them!"

"But where would they be?"

"Heaven?"

Castiel is doubtful. The way their fight had been going, Castiel was not certain that the demons would have left the Winchesters go forth to their happily ever after.

"It's possible," he finally concedes.

"Cas—didn't that voice say something about this? Finding kin?" Adam says suddenly. His face falls lax. "Who was that voice, Cas?"

Castiel looks down and away.

"It is not for me to say."

"But it was a message for you, and I still heard it. Whoever it was wanted us both to hear it, right?"

"The amulet… it burned hot when I heard the voice, and when I found you," Castiel muses, mostly to himself.

"What amulet?"

Castiel weakly grabs the amulet off the nightstand and hands it to the boy. He peers at it, clearly unimpressed.

"It's a metal head with horns," he says unemotionally. "Doesn't really fit in with the holy tax accountant style you had there."

Castiel's face cracks into a smile.

"What?"

"Dean once called me that."

"Weird."

"You are like him, at times, and sometimes more like Sam," notes Castiel. Adam makes a face.

"I don't want anything in common with those bastards," he says in a low voice. Castiel knows better than to press Adam, so he tells him instead about the amulet, how it was rumored to burn hot in the presence of God, and how it never worked for Castiel when he needed it most, for God had stopped caring about his Creation and did not want to be found.

"Ouch. Bitter?"

"Perhaps," Castiel says, sounding more confused than anything now.

"So Dad needed a break from the kids. Maybe He's stepping in now because the kids threw a wicked house party and almost burned the place to the ground, and the school with it," Adam says.

"I cannot think about why He would come back now."

"Alright, alright," Adam says, throwing his hands in the air. "So the amulet led you to me?"

Castiel nods.

"Then maybe it'll lead you to Sam and Dean, if we can get to wherever the fuck they are."

"Perhaps," Castiel says again.

"Sleep, or rest, or whatever it is angels do," Adam says. "That piece of the blade did a number on you."

"Most of my grace is gone."

"Well, you're not dead yet, and the rest of the grace isn't going anywhere, now that I closed up the wound. Y'know, that piece was just digging deeper and deeper into your vessel. I think if it'd gone any further, it'd have really done some physical damage, and you might've died before your grace ran out."

"I'll consider myself lucky, then," Castiel says, attempting sarcasm. Adam's lips curl a little at the failure. "I only wish I understood how, and why. Everything about this is wrong. That's the only way my Father would have spoken to me—to us."

"Yeah. I mean, I've been to church, but not since, uh, Christmas in 2001. I didn't think the big man was that much of a fan."

"Clearly, He is, more than either of us thought."

Adam rises and goes to the kitchen. He opens up a fresh bottle of whiskey and pours some out for Castiel.

"Drink it, and shut up. Sleep."

"Angels don't sleep."

"You're, like, two-percent angel right now, so go the fuck to sleep, Cas."

Adam hops onto the other bed, blows out the candle nearest to them, and turns away. Castiel puts his drink on the nightstand, untouched, and closes his eyes. Sleeping, he finds, is far more difficult than humans make it seem.

* * *

Once he falls asleep, he stays asleep until late afternoon two days later. Castiel did not expect to dream, but he does on and off throughout his sleep. At first, the dreams are pleasant and nonspecific, vaguely reminding him of heavens he enjoyed visiting in the past. Angels start appearing in the dream, trying to talk to him, but none succeeding. In a wide green expanse Castiel sees Balthazar at the far end of the open space. He does not move.

The sky clouds, wind begins to blow, and the trees sink into the ground, which rapidly transforms into a turbulent sea. Castiel is on the edge of a rocky shore. The sky above is littered with distant lightning strikes. He turns around finds a forest, and the crest of a hill further inland towering over the treetops. At the top of the hill is a massive, ancient tree. Castiel plows uphill toward it, but he never seems to get much closer than halfway up the hill. He stops finally and looks up; the sky is illuminated behind the old tree full of shining fruit.

The dream fades, but another one begins. This time, Castiel stands on the banks of a river, which splits into three sections. On the land farthest left, the land slopes downward and is seemingly swallowed by its own depths. Ahead lies the greenish glow of purgatory. Castiel takes a step forward and crosses an expanse; he finds himself on those same banks as in the previous dream, only this time he can see across the sea to the island with the hill topped by the ancient tree. Castiel takes a step back to the source of the three rivers. Finally, on his far right, the land slopes up until fog envelops the land, hiding it from view.

All of a sudden, the ground breaks, and Castiel plummets. He tries to fly but his wings are dead and useless and falling apart at the joints. He looks down and sees row after row of upturned angel blades waiting to destroy him once again.

"_Cas?"_

He freezes mid-flight, mid-dream. The sensation, the dream on a whole, dissolves. Castiel is in darkness. Three faintly glowing lines originate at his feet and spread out in the same way the river had divided. The one in the middle pulsates. Then, all three lines fade back into the darkness.

* * *

Castiel wakes slowly. The amulet burns on his bare chest. He is alone in the motel room, though Adam's bag is still on the floor of the kitchen. The room is almost dark, though there is still some light outside. Castiel rises slowly from the bed; his back is stiff, his skin tight around the stitches. He drains the whiskey he did not drink before sleeping.

The door opens slowly.

"Oh. You're up," Adam blinks. He slams the door shut, ceasing all efforts to not make noise. "Good."

"I should not have slept so long," Castiel says, his voice hoarse.

"Probably, but we haven't got much else to do," Adam shrugs. He pulls some food out of a brown bag and sits at the table. "There's a diner still stocked up down the road, and it's got electricity, for some reason. Want some?"

"No."

Castiel joins Adam at the table.

"What's up? You look more confused than usual," Adam says through a mouthful of food.

"It's nothing," Castiel says, dismissing him. "We still plan to find Michael, and his grace?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah," Adam says. He looks relieved that Castiel brought it up. "He's probably not that far from here if he came out on earth."

"If not, then he is in purgatory," Castiel nods. "Right now, I'm not strong enough to go there, but if we can find Michael's grace, it can at least strengthen me enough to find him."

"Why would he be separated from his grace?" Adam asks. "He was full angel all through hell, even when I last saw him. D'you think passing the boundaries between the worlds ripped him a new one or something?"

"It's possible. I can't say," Castiel sighs.

"Do you have a map?"

"Yes."

Castiel pulls the map out of his bag. Adam stares at the contents, which still consist of ammunition, weapons, and a water bottle. Castiel spreads the map out on the table; Adam marks where they are, which is essentially a speck of a town in the middle of nowhere. They mark roughly the paths they took to get to the town and where they respectively woke, which, as predicted, was roughly the same location.

"What about the disturbance?" Adam asks.

"Here," Castiel says as he marks the map, "but it tells us very little about Michael's curremt location."

"Well, we've got plenty to go off. We'll find him," Adam says, sketching out a rough radius on the map.

"I only hope he is still alive."

"Alive? Why wouldn't he be?" Adam frowns. His face drains of color.

"If his grace was torn out by whatever means, he will be suffering. Michael is powerful, but it is very difficult for an angel to wholly survive such an ordeal," Castiel says. "I hope you understand that."

"Yeah," Adam says, though he sounds weak and uncertain now. "Of course. So, uh, when do we leave?"

"Soon. It does not matter much when we travel, since there's no one to hunt us," he replies.

"An hour?"

Castiel nods. Adam finishes eating his food while Castiel starts gathering the things they will need. He pulls a soft dark blue t-shirt over his head. It is a little loose, but it will do; it is certainly more comfortable than the white collared shirt he is so accustomed to wearing. When Castiel finishes packing, topping off the bag with the last bottle of whiskey, he turns to Adam, who is jabbing absently at his empty plate.

"I am surprised you've trusted me so easily," Castiel says, breaking Adam out of his reverie. He looks up, thoroughly dazed. "I did not expect to find anyone, and believed that if I did I would not be welcome company."

"Why?"

"I am an angel. We do not usually find warm welcomes among strangers here."

"Well, I know who you are. You pulled me out of the ground."

"That's not much," he says. "I find it strange only because Winchesters are so often distrustful, especially of my kind. I thought you would be as well, considering."

"Yeah, well, the name's Milligan, not Winchester, and I know an ally when I see one. I'm not gonna be a total asshole and throw this away," Adam says gruffly. "Anyway, Mike and I owe it to you for helping our numbers against Lucifer, and for getting us armed. Hell, maybe we should thank you for opening the cage too at this rate."

"I didn't—"

"I know, I'm just saying."

"Is that what you believe? That this—all this is still somehow connected to me?" Castiel asks. Adam's hand smoothly drops from his chin. "Please. Tell me. If you know something, enlighten me."

"Cas… I really don't know much. I just heard whispers 'round hell when we were cutting our way out," Adam says, shaking his head.

"Whispers are more than what I know," presses Castiel.

"I dunno. It didn't make much sense."

"Adam."

"Okay! Okay, fine, but Mike might be able to tell you more when we get to him," Adam adds. "I remember the demons talking about some tablet, which makes a hell of a lot more sense now that you filled me in."

"Do they still have it?"

"Not sure. They were talking about how Crowley's been gone since the big change," Adam says. "You said you guys were trying to find him, right?"

"Yes."

"Was he there?"

"It's possible. The tides turned against us while I was dying, it seems."

"Well, apparently he was topside and no one's seen him since. Word around the rack was that this was all part of a plan, but those goons probably have more brain damage than a Penn State football player," Adam says. Castiel stares. "Oh, never mind. They were whispers, okay?"

"But why would you think it has to do with me?"

"It just seems too… perfect that the change happened right when you died, like that was the key to it," Adam says. "I've been thinking about it since we talked a few days ago and I, uh, just can't figure anything else that makes more sense, Cas. I'm sorry."

"There is no reason to apologize," Castiel says. "If I am to blame, I will take up that responsibility and do anything to fix this."

"Whoa, I just said there was a connection, not that you're the mastermind," Adam says quickly. "You _died_. You couldn't have done all this," he says, waving his arms around. Adam stands. He throws his bag over his shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go. I can't stand sitting around."

Castiel nods in agreement, though he is not certain he should trust that Adam has told him everything he knows. He decides to bring it up again when they find Michael. Adam is already outside when Castiel finally pulls his arm through the sleeve of his trench coat. He pauses and looks at the blatant hole in the back, ringed with the blood Adam did not manage to wash out. He touches the broken fabric. It shocks his skin lightly. Castiel smiles; he surely would not have felt that had he been one hundred percent angel at the time. He slides his arm through the other sleeve, pauses in the bathroom to fix the collar, and pulls his messenger back over his head.

Outside, Adam is waiting by the Impala, which is alive and humming happily on the curb.

"What? I can hotwire a car," Adam says. "Come on."

Castiel slides into the front seat beside Adam. They pull out of the parking lot and depart, Castiel's face buried in the map, Adam's fixed on the road. The amulet is warm on Castiel's skin. Castiel shifts it so it is on top of his shirt.

* * *

Dean immediately noticed that something was off about Cas. He never asked, but he watched him. Cas was aware, though. Sometimes he even smiled about it when no one was paying attention, which made him feel rather foolish. Finally, when Cas returned from heaven that night, Dean pulled him aside.

"What's up with you?" he asked. Dean looked over his shoulder; Sam was washing the dishes rather loudly.

"The angels know very little," Cas murmured in reply. "It's disconcerting. There is no way to know."

"Isn't that kinda the point for you guys?"

"Not anymore. Wasn't _that_ the point of all we've done?" Cas said, moving toward the door.

"Hold up, you can't just leave again!" Dean said angrily, advancing on Cas.

"I'm not leaving, Dean. I want to go outside," Cas says firmly. Dean looked mildly confused for a moment, but then his face relaxed and he nodded. Dean followed Cas out the door. Sam smiled at the sink and kept washing.

Dean walked straight to the Impala.

"Come on. Let's go for a drive."

Cas hesitated.

"We should stay with Sam, especially since Crowley's forces know we're here," Cas said doubtfully. Dean smiled crookedly and shuts the car door. He walked right up to Cas, close enough for Cas to count the freckles on his nose. He tried to sidestep Dean awkwardly, but he found himself less capable of fluid movement all of a sudden.

"He'll be fine," Dean said. "We won't be gone long."

"Dean…."

"We're gonna talk, so let's do this right, Cas," Dean said, looking Cas straight in the eye.

"But we need to stay," Cas said, though it came out more like a reluctant whine. He felt the blush cover his skin. Dean chuckled.

"Don't you ever do stuff because you _want_ to? You wanna learn more about humans? Do that. Do stuff because you want to."

"Desire isn't a good basis for decisions for action," Cas tried to say. Dean was already leading him to the car.

"You've been missing out, buddy," Dean said, shaking his head. He still looked unreasonably pleased to Cas.

"I—"

"It'll be a quick drive, back in time for one more beer with Sam before bed. Promise," Dean stated, pulling the passenger side door open. Though still wary, Cas got in the car. Dean turned on the engine and pulled out of the motel parking lot. He stole a look back at the motel, as did Cas, but they could see nothing through the window other than a tall figure over the kitchen sink.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"So, Castiel, what do angels do for fun?" Adam asks. He deposits a bundle of kindling on the ground and wipes his hands on his jeans.

"Not much," Castiel admits. "We were created to serve. We are soldiers."

"You guys weren't always at war."

"With demons, Lucifer, hell—yes, always," Castiel says. "Some found amusement on earth, but most preferred to work for our purpose."

"Come on, not even a drinking game, or paintball?" Adam laughs. "I'm kidding."

"We enjoyed certain things, particularly when in a vessel."

"Right. I got it," he winks. Castiel blushes instantly, prompting Adam to laugh again. "Anything you've ever actually wanted to do?"

"Yes, and no," Castiel says slowly. "Everything, yet nothing."

"Don't go all philosophical on me," Adam says.

"The ways of humans are fascinating, even if they are repetitive and rather unimaginative after a certain point," Castiel explains. "Until I was sent to hell to retrieve Dean, I spent much of my existence watching my Father's Creation unfurl and develop and grow. I never understood how my brothers and sisters could look down upon something that is so much more than what we are."

"Was it jealousy?"

"No, for we are closer to God than most men, in some respects, and that might be why they thought themselves better. It doesn't matter. They're gone, at my hand. The only ones who remained were the ones who loved humans as our Father intended."

"That's all great, Cas, but what about the question, huh? Fun?"

"I want to experience it but it became increasingly difficult not to envy it."

"Humanity?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Indulging in _fun_ was something I never believed I should do as an angel. It was temptation."

"Lemme guess: Dean was a great influence on you," Adam smirks. He crouches to pile the kindling properly. "You got a lighter in that bag?"

Castiel hands Adam the lighter as well as the matches. The boy pauses, then looks up.

"You can do it."

"By hand?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Castiel is uncertain but he takes the materials back. He crouches next to Adam and flicks the lighter open. He attempts to spark it several times, and when it does start, the fire catches his skin and Castiel lets it go. Luckily, it hits the wood and starts the fire. Adam takes a few matches and uses them to start the flames in other parts of the large pile of firewood. It takes a few minutes of silent stoking and prodding, but eventually they have a large, warm fire.

"Nice," Adam says, satisfied. Castiel draws his knees up to his chest, gathering the length of the coat around him. "Cold?"

"A little," he says. "It is strange. I was never bothered by such simple things before."

"Well, you're hardly what you were now," Adam says. "Doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"I know that."

Castiel takes his hand out of his coat and reaches into the fire. For a moment, he feels nothing, but then he pulls his hand out before he even feels the searing pain. Adam is chuckling lightly.

"It was only a test," Castiel explains.

"I'm gonna guess that's a fail."

"Yes."

"Hey, hang on," Adam says, brightening instantly. He crawls over to his bag and starts digging. He pulls a few food containers out and sets them aside. "I've got just the thing to stick in the fire, if that's what you wanna do."

Castiel frowns when Adam returns with a bag of poufy, cylindrically-shaped white masses. He hands Castiel a long, thin stick before tearing the bag open. Adam presses one of the marshmallows onto the end of Castiel's stick and sits back.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Roast it. You've watched humans for eons, man; you must've seen this at some point," Adam says.

"Children, yes, from time to time enjoyed burning things and eating them, and subsequently burning their mouths and being chided by their mothers," Castiel concedes, "but I've never seen anyone over the age of eleven do this."

"Doesn't matter. People still do it when they're older," Adam says breezily. "Back at school, we went to the Lakes over spring break and had this massive bonfire on the beach. We got drunk as hell and just had a good time all night long, and we roasted all the marshmallows we had. S'mores, Cas. _S'mores._"

"I don't—"

"Graham crackers with a roasted marshmallow and chocolate!" Adam exclaims. "Goddamn it, Dean and Sam have done a piss poor job of teaching you about humans."

"I learn by observation."

"Right, right. I'm more hands-on, buddy," Adam says. "We ain't got chocolate right now, or crackers, but we'll grab some in the next town, if it's not rotted yet."

"These can be eaten without those?" Castiel asks dubiously. Adam nods feverishly. "You seem pleased about this situation."

"They don't have marshmallows in the cage, man. This is heaven."

Adam's first marshmallow is dark and looks soft. He retracts the stick from the fire and lets the marshmallow cool, eyeing it with a certain degree of lust that almost makes Castiel laugh. _The simplicity of humanity_, he thinks, smiling.

"What about Sam?" asks Adam as he pokes at the marshmallow. "Dean, yeah, you guys have something different, but he could be a dick, from what I remember. Sam wasn't as bad."

"Sam was my friend," Castiel says. "There were times when I felt I could confide in Sam more easily than anyone. He was truly supportive and kind to me, even after my return from purgatory."

Castiel lowers his marshmallow into the fire and watches it carefully.

"Dean could be very stubborn, very ignorant, hypocritical at times. He did not have a level head. Sam, on the other hand, was not his brother; he had his own flaws. But he was a good friend."

"And Dean wasn't?"

"Not always. Excuses cannot be made for his behavior; I think he started to realize that toward the end."

Castiel pauses to look above them. The sky is dark and full of stars. They sit in a clearing in the forest off the road. The silence around them cushions them, protects them, and Castiel is highly aware of this. Beyond their cushioned area, there is emptiness. He feels it breathing on his back, making him uncomfortable. It is a blatant reminder that he is, truly, alone but for Adam. Adam at least had Michael with him through the Change. Castiel… he had very little left to fill him.

"Uh, Cas?" Adam says. "Your marshmallow…."

Castiel looks back down. His marshmallow is a crisp falling off the end of the stick into the heart of the fire. It gives a small burst and becomes indistinguishable from the wood.

"Sorry."

"No worries. Have another."

Adam has one ready and extended toward Castiel. He takes it and takes a small bite, rather than take his chances with the fire again. Castiel struggles with the strange substance as it sticks to his teeth and tangles around his tongue. Adam is already roasting his third marshmallow, looking almost childishly happy, even moreso when he sees Castiel battling with his marshmallow. Castiel feels a pang of pity for the boy. He hardly lived past the most childish stages of life.

"I can bring you to heaven once we find Michael. He and I can return you to your resting place," Castiel says suddenly. Adam's head jerks up from his hand, where he had been intently sucking the marshmallow bits off. "Would you like that?"

Adam's eyes are wide. The fire reflects off them, contrasting against his blue irises. He nods slowly.

"Can you take me to my mom?" Adam asks. "I know Zachariah promised that I'd see her, and he was full of crap, so I dunno if I can even do that but… is that possible?"

"It is," Castiel says. "Zachariah intended for you to go to her."

Adam scoffs. "He was still full of crap. They were right about not trusting angels."

"Why are you trusting me?" Castiel asks Adam.

"I learned that not everyone's shitty and stone cold at heart," Adam says matter-of-factly. "It wasn't easy, considering where I was, but I guess I saw the nicer side of Mike, and then when I thought it'd go away, it didn't."

"Michael is a fearsome archangel," Castiel says, an edge creeping into his voice. "Forgive me, but I still can't understand this mild and kind _Mike_."

"You'll see when we find him. Did you know him well?"

"No," he replies, shaking his head. "Michael was more of a rumor of greatness among those of us in the lower ranks. We adored and revered him as much as we feared him, as with the other archangels. Yet, in a way, we knew each other. We are connected."

"He kinda explained that sort of hive-mind thing that happens with all the waves and angels talking," Adam nods. "Weird. Anyway, he _does_ know who you are, Cas."

"Really?" Strangely, his heart races out of nowhere. Adam starts laughing.

"Calm down, fangirl," he says. "Apparently every angel knows about you."

"I expect they would after the civil war," Castiel says.

"Nah; Mike knew about you before that. He said even though God wasn't really _there_ or giving orders, he kinda kept an eye on you," Adam explains. "Never did anything, but he watched, kept track of your steps or whatever. I forget the way he said it."

"He is my older brother," Castiel says softly.

"So he was just looking out for you, just like Dean and Sam," Adam says. He realizes what he said and darkens. He seems to recede a little in the shadows. "They do it only for each other, though."

"Adam…."

"We're not starting that, I know. I'll give them hell when I see them, but I won't take it out on you," he says, resigned. "You know we've gotta find them, just so I can do that."

"Of course," Castiel says with a small smile. Adam grins back. Castiel surprises himself when he adds, "Give them hell!"

Adam laughs again. _A smile looks good on the boy's face_, Castiel thinks.

"Here," Adam says, pointing his roasting stick at Castiel. At the end is a perfectly brown marshmallow dripping ever so slightly onto the ground. Castiel takes it and almost drops it. "Hey; be careful. That's the best damn marshmallow I've ever roasted."

Castiel takes a bite out of the molten marshmallow; his mouth explodes. He feels arousal in ways he never imagined could be felt. The marshmallow dissolving slightly in his mouth, sticking to the roof of his mouth, the struggle to free it and properly devour it eliciting saliva, making the sensations all the grander—_this_ is humanity. Sensation. Feeling with the whole body, and savoring with more than it. Castiel swallows. The pleasure is plain of his face.

"Like it?" Adam smirks. "I can make another."

"No, it's fine."

"Hey, if you want it, take it," Adam says, shrugging. "No rules in this world. Who gives a fuck about cavities?"

Adam skewers another marshmallow and dips it in the waning fire. He finishes roasting the marshmallow just as the fire finally goes out. Castiel savors his marshmallow in the dark, almost thankful for the privacy of night.

"If you like this, you should try fondue," Adam comments. "It's awesome."

"Should I get more firewood?" Castiel asks.

"Sure, I guess," Adam says. He sits back, leaning on his hands, staring up at the stars. The Milky Way cleanly divides the sky. "Take your time, Cas. 'S not every night you see a sky like this."

Castiel hikes up the hill. He tugs the edges of the coat closer to his body; the air is colder than he anticipates. He considers putting on one of the flannel shirts in the duffle bag before they turn in for the night. Close to the steepest point before it evens out to meet the road, Castiel stops with the roof of the Impala just barely in view. He bends down and moves some dirt around. He searches for insects, spiders, anything other than leaves, but he finds nothing. He wonders when even the trees will begin to fall, for it seems inevitable to Castiel at this point.

He stands at full height and begins to climb again when a hand clamps over his mouth and another turns him around. Adam, eyes wide and intense, shakes his head. He releases Castiel and they retreat away from the road toward the campsite.

The voices are clearer as they move downhill. Castiel pulls Adam behind a tree.

"Who are they?" he hisses.

"Demons, I think," Adam breathes. "I heard them in the woods, talking about the Impala."

"We need to leave," Castiel says.

"Obviously. They know Mike and I got out. They're looking for us," Adam says. "I heard 'em say it. Doesn't seem like they know about you, though, so let's not tell them."

Castiel nods curtly and inches around the tree to get a look at their pursuers. There are three of them prodding at the embers of their fire. They are talking, but Castiel cannot quite make out what they are saying; he curses his diminished hearing. Then, all three demons turn to the north and stiffen. A fourth demon appears.

"They were here, maybe minutes ago. The car's still on the road," one demon announces to the new arrival. "They're here somewhere."

"Mr. Crowley will be pleased," the new demon says.

_Crowley?_

"What are you waiting for?" the demon barks. "Find them! There's a reward I'd like t—argh!"

His voice rises into a howl. The demon's vessel fills with a familiar golden flicker. The demon crumples, revealing an enshrouded man wielding a knife Castiel knows well. The other three demons lunge at the stranger, but their powers do not affect the man. He stands as though weighed down by the earth itself, unmoved by their abilities. One demon falters and moves to run uphill, but the man moves faster than any human Castiel has ever seen and knifes the demon swiftly and with obvious conviction. Again, the man moves at an ungodly speed and, moments later, the other two demons are dead, their meatsuits lying on the ground with their throats open for the stars to gaze at.

The man's head rises and he seems to look right at the tree where Adam and Castiel hide. His arm drops and the knife disappears into the folds of his jacket. Adam emerges first, his entire body arched with suspicion. Castiel hesitates, though. His heart pounds annoyingly quickly. He knows his mind is playing tricks, hoping that it is the last person he saw with the knife. Castiel remembers handing Dean the knife before they left the motel for the warehouse; he remembers the look of gratitude and alien happiness on his face.

Castiel pulls out of their hiding place. Adam is already at the bottom of the hill. He watches the boy rush forward and throw his arms around the man. Castiel feels himself deflate ever so slightly. He is happy, but he cannot be as happy as he might have been, had his hopes been real. Castiel settles into his disappointment as he approaches the two figures.

"Mike—oh, god," Adam stammers, still hugging the archangel "We thought you were dead, Michael. Goddamn it."

Adam pulls away from Michael. Castiel sees he is frowning.

"What's wrong?" Adam asks. "Tell me," he demands.

"Castiel," Michael says, turning to him. "I'm glad Adam found you."

"Michael," Castiel says with an awkward, stiff nod. "I am glad we found you."

"As am I of you," Michael says, obviously grateful. Now, Castiel is wary as well. Something _is_ off about the angel. "How have you found this… new world?"

"Quit sidestepping," Adam interrupts. "Mike, what the hell happened to you?"

"It's… a long story, Adam," Michael says. He shakes his head and sticks his hands in his pockets. Castiel recognizes the jacket as one of Dean's own, "one I will tell, Castiel," he adds. "It will be of great interest to you, if you are still interested in the fate of the Winchesters."

"I am," he says, his voice cracking as he fails at hiding his eagerness.

"Mike, goddamn it," Adam warns, rounding on the archangel. "If you weren't an angel, I'd've fucking hit you by now."

"Go ahead," he says calmly, opening his arms for Adam. "I'm no angel anymore."

"What?" Adam asks. He sounds broken.

"I am human, Adam. It is… the most unexpected decision I have ever made, one I could never have done without you, Castiel," Michael says with measured warmth. "Free will," he smiles. "I found freedom."

Adam still gapes at Michael.

"You _chose_ to become human?"

"I did," nods Michael. "I ripped my grace out."

He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a chain with a glowing bottle dangling from it.

"And I do not want it back," he says. Michael turns to Castiel. He takes his hand and places the bottle in Castiel's hand, bending the fingers over it. "Take it, but don't use it yet."

"I won't," Castiel says, dumbfounded. Adam is still speechless. He stares at Michael. Castiel is not certain, but it seems entirely possible that Adam could launch himself at Michael and pummel him into the ground. Going off the physical aspects purely, Adam stands a chance if he takes Michael off guard, Castiel reasons, but he knows that Michael, human or angel, is still a soldier.

"Let's rest," Michael announces. "We can talk in the morning. We have plenty to discuss."

Castiel leads the way to the car. He glances back at the top of the hill and sees Michael with his arm around Adam, who leans his head against Michael's shoulder. Castiel turns back around and pretends he saw nothing. They all climb into the car, with Michael and Adam in the back. Castiel slides down a little into the seat and curls up against the door. The window is cold where he leans his head, but it feels refreshing. He settles into the car, still pulling his coat closer against his body.

_It couldn't have been him. He's dead. They're all dead._

It takes Castiel a long time to fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Michael is the one who shakes Castiel awake.

"Castiel?" he says, reaching through the passenger side window. Castiel rouses slowly, but he soon is fully awake. "Come. We need to have a chat."

He climbs out of the Impala, bumping his knee against the steering wheel on the way out. It aches dully on the way down to the campsite. Adam is packing up his bag of marshmallows. Castiel sees that he does not seem to be in the brightest of moods. Adam kicks a tree branch aside.

"Oh, hi, Cas," he says, sounding a little relieved. "I thought you were gonna sleep another few days."

"Michael woke me," Castiel says. He looks around. "Where are the bodies?"

"Buried 'em," Adam says. "Good thing Dean and Sam kept the car stocked with shovels and shit."

"Yes," Castiel says with a frown. "When did you do that?"

"This morning. I couldn't sleep."

Adam's head twitches toward where Michael stands in the distance, but he manages to keep a straight face and look directly at Castiel.

"You're displeased with him," he notes. Adam rolls his eyes.

"That obvious?" he says sarcastically.

"Your displeasure with me could be seen from the moon, Adam," Michael says, joining them in the clearing. He shoots Adam a small, playful smile; Adam glares. Michael, still smiling, turns to Castiel. "So! Castiel. Back again from the dead."

"Yes," he says tentatively.

"Any idea who did it?"

"Killed me or brought me back?"

"Either," says Michael with a noncommittal shrug.

"No, to both."

"Might I trouble you for an account?" Michael asks.

"If you're gonna be human, stop talking like one of Shakespeare's bitches," Adam snaps. Michael ignores him, his focus still entirely on Castiel. He hesitates, for Adam looks like he is about to burst and pour hot lava on the former archangel's head, but Castiel eventually proceeds with the story of his most recent death, including the circumstances.

"Closing the gates of hell," murmurs Michael. "Such a tablet is valuable. And they had the prophet as well?"

Castiel nods.

"Great," Michael says, frowning.

"Why would Crowley want you and Adam?" Castiel asks. "He has everything he wanted."

"This," Michael says, gesturing at everything around them, "no one wanted this. No one really understands how it came to be, Castiel. Our escape is a consequence of the Change. The last thing Crowley wants is an archangel and his former vessel free from the most secure parts of his domain. It does not speak well of his security system."

"This is true," he agrees. "How is he aware you two made it out here?"

"We were being chased," Adam says. "I told you that."

"Yes," Michael nods. "We were close to the edge of hell…. It seems that there are three rivers now separating the three realms of the afterlife. We reached the nearest river, which we guessed was between hell and purgatory. I can confirm that."

"Is that—is that where you ended up?" Adam asks, looking sharply at Michael.

"Yes. We were crossing the river. We were near the source, and we could see land upstream," he explains. "It was the third bank we wanted, not purgatory's. Adam made it, but I was swept back in the current. I escaped hell's grasp, but I arrived at purgatory's door instead."

Castiel remembers purgatory well—the constant running, the hunt that never ended, the desperation to keep Dean safe. It had all been for so little, in the end. They both made it out, separately. They were on the fence with each other for a while, but things mended, once Dean learned to put purgatory behind him. They became comrades in arms again, as they had been during the days before the apocalypse. There was no doubt that either would die for the other: there was love between them, and the purity and clarity of purgatory and its aftereffects made that possible.

"But, you are familiar with purgatory, am I correct, Castiel?" Michael says, pulling Castiel out of his thoughts.

"Yes," he nods.

"When I was there, I ran into someone," Michael says. "Dean Winchester."

Castiel sits straight up, eyes wide.

"Dean?"

"Yes. Last time I saw him, he was there," Michael says.

"I do not understand," Castiel shakes his head. "If everyone is dead, how did he end up in purgatory? He was human."

"The man is a fighter," Michael says simply. "Crowley had plans for him, he said, so he ran as soon as the opportunity presented itself."

"I can't imagine you guys got on all that well," snorts Adam coldly.

"No, not at first, but we worked together," Michael says. "He is the reason I am out here."

"Well, _how did you get out?_" demands Adam, teeth clenched.

"Same as you," he explains. "We fought our way to the edge of purgatory, but instead of the whitish waters near hell, we found the dark waters that are familiar to us, Castiel. There were times, you might remember, when we came to the seas to witness Creation. You would have been quite young."

"I remember," Castiel says instantly. "I remember you there as well."

Michael smiles. Castiel flutters slightly.

"Adam found earth at one end of purgatory, at the intersection of it with hell and heaven, somewhere further off. But Dean and I found something at the _other_ end, an island between heaven and purgatory," Michael explains. His eyes shine and his words quicken feverishly. "Castiel, it was the Tree—our Father's Tree. It is the last pure remnant of Eden."

"Eden?" Adam repeats.

"Purgatory is, in a sense, the twisted version of Eden, if one ponders it long enough," Michael says thoughtfully. He turns again to Castiel, saying, "We _found_ it, Castiel."

"Incredible," Castiel breathes. "Truly."

"Do you know what this means?" Michael exclaims.

"No!" Adam interjects. "Seriously, guys. Human out of the loop here."

"The tree of _knowledge_," says Michael, "grants knowledge to the beholder."

"Fascinating," Adam deadpans.

"The consequences can vary, I would assume, but we only know what happened to the original humans," Michael says. "Some in heaven thought God was there, with the Tree, waiting for those worthy enough of its gifts."

"But doesn't the bible say that no one can eat from it?" frowns Adam.

"Have you been reading?" Michael asks, surprised.

"I'm not a dumbass, Mike. I know some stuff about this."

"You are right, but that was God's order to man, and that was before he punished mankind," he says. "Times have changed. God has stepped back, but I believe he is still out there. That island was our best chance of finding Him."

"Then why didn't you go?" Adam asks.

"I was experiencing technical problems," Michael says, suddenly gruff. "I needed to get to higher ground—to earth. I could not stand my current state, so I left."

"You left Dean there, in purgatory?"

"Yes, on the banks of the sea, staring out at the island," nods Michael.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Adam asks. "He'd probably burn the damn tree!"

"Oh, no, I do doubt that," Michael says. "Dean sent me with a message, should I find you, Castiel."

"How did he know I was alive?" Castiel says, confused. "He saw me die."

"He said you don't seem to know how to stay dead," Michael says with a small chuckle, "though that seems a little insensitive to me."

"Sounds like Dean," Adam grunts.

"What did Dean say?" Castiel asks impatiently.

"He said he is sorry, and that he will find you and Sam," Michael says slowly. "He also said not to worry about him, that he could fight his way out of purgatory again."

"What about Crowley?"

"He seemed to still be running from the forces of hell," Michael says. "Crowley wants his head on a plate, I believe. That is what one of the demons said last night, at least."

"So, they're looking for you _and _Dean?"

"And Adam," corrects Michael. "Crowley wants us all, and he'll want you when he finds out you're alive. He seems to think he has the upper hand in this mess."

"Dean gave you the knife?" Castiel asks. He feels numb all of a sudden.

"Yes. He thought I would need it more once I found you and Adam," Michael says. "I did not agree, but he is not someone to argue with when he does not want to be fought."

Castiel cannot help but smile at the thought of the archangel attempting to reason with an angry Dean Winchester. To Dean, it must not have been wholly unfamiliar, but Castiel is glad that Michael and Dean did not destroy each other upon their most recent meeting.

"Shouldn't we go?" Adam says, breaking the silence. "Crowley could be on our asses."

"Curious that they have not shown up," Castiel says.

"Perhaps in the new set-up, they cannot communicate as well between hell and earth or between each other," Michael speculates.

"Does it matter? We should've driven off at dawn!" states Adam. He stands up and plows uphill, Michael and Castiel trailing.

"He is not pleased with me," Michael says.

"No," says Castiel. "Why _did_ you become human?"

"That," he say, jabbing his finger at Castiel's chest, right by where the grace dangles alongside the amulet. "It is not simply my grace. When we killed Lucifer—I presume Adam informed you about that?—I captured his grace and took it into myself, for the extra power. It was to make sure Adam got out safely. I never would have done something so detrimental to myself otherwise."

"What happened?" Castiel asks.

"My grace and Lucifer's seemed to merge, or at least his started eating away at my own. It was like having a second person within you, one that, rather than wanting to get out, wants to push _you_ out," Michael shudders. "It was a constant struggle against him."

"But it's not _him_."

"It is his corruption."

"Ah. I understand."

"You see? I could not keep it, not without risking becoming a terrible form of Lucifer, even though he is dead," Michael says softly. "Adam will not understand. He wanted us both to emerge whole, but I did not tell him that our plan would damage me. I am lucky to have come out on earth where I was able to safely separate myself from the grace."

"I understand," Castiel mutters. He almost stops himself, but figures there is no harm in asking, "Michael, how does it feel?"

"Being human?" he says with a crooked smile. "It is the way the Garden once smelled, though I doubt you would remember that as clearly as I do. It is sweet, and strong, and all too overwhelming. But it is good. I _feel_, Castiel! I never believed I could experience such strange things, and now I feel it all, and so intensely! It is unlike anything I ever expected in my existence."

"Humanity is our Father's most perfect creation."

"I always knew that," nods Michael, "but there is a fine line between knowing, having the appreciation the obedient soldiers were taught to have, and understanding it, feeling it, savoring it."

"Mike, whatever it is you're talking about is making me hungry," scowls Adam from the driver's seat. "Come on. We've gotta go."

"Of course, Adam."

Castiel moves to open the back door of the car. Michael stops him.

"To answer your question—it was worth it."

"I see," Castiel says.

"What's wrong?" Michael asks.

"You seem very different," Castiel blurts.

"Last time I saw you, you threw a bottle of flaming holy oil at us," Michael recalls. "That is the past; don't worry. After hundreds of years in the deepest corner of hell, even the blindest of archangels can bend and learn to see."

"That's counterintuitive. How?"

"I had a guide, someone who taught me to think, and love," Michael adds. He glances at the car. "Adam. He is different, Castiel, but he is at least part Winchester; he is capable of as much pain and love as his half-brothers."

"You and Adam…."

"We get along well," Michael says. He opens the passenger door. "I am grateful to him."

"You talking about me?" Adam says.

"It is possible."

"Well, don't."

"No need to become agitated," Michael says. He sounds happy. Castiel opens the door and slides into the Impala. Adam starts the car and starts to drive.

"Wait," he says, braking abruptly. "Where are we going?"

Silence settles in the car. Eventually both Michael and Adam turn toward Castiel.

"Take your time, Cas. It's your call," Adam says finally.

"Me?" Castiel asks incredulously.

"Your choices are the ones that shake this world," says Michael. "Make one."

Something in the air shifts. Castiel looks out the window. Leaves rustle, trees wave in the wind, but nothing seems truly unusual. Still, Castiel shivers and feels uncomfortable, as though unseen ears are trained on him.

"Heaven," he decides. "We go to heaven."

Adam's eyes widen.

"You mean—?"

"Yes. We will find your mother, Adam."

Adam turns around and presses the gas pedal to the floor. All of a sudden, he stops again.

"Dean wouldn't like the way you're treating his car," frowns Michael.

"I don't give a rat's ass about Dean," he snaps at Michael, "but that's just it. What about him?"

"He said he would wait on that shore for as long as possible," Michael says. "He said if he couldn't get out to earth, he would be there."

"Maybe he has escaped," Castiel wonders.

"You would know," Michael says seriously. "You have that," he points at the amulet.

"I don't understand," Castiel says, his voice quavering ever so slightly. "It… burns at the strangest times."

"It burned when you found Adam, correct?" Michael asks. Castiel nods. "And it burned when you heard the voice in the church."

"How did you know?" he frowns.

"I heard the voice, too," Michael says. "I was far from here, and still recovering from removing my grace, but I heard it. Castiel, that is an artifact, an old piece from the vaults of heaven. I am curious how it came to be on earth."

"As am I," he says. "Dean had it for as long as I remember until he discarded it several years ago."

"Did anyone take it after him?"

"Not as far as I know," he says, shaking his head. "It remained in the trash bin after we left that town. I do not know more about its fate."

"And yet you found it again."

"In the warehouse, very close to the spot where I died," Castiel says. "It was not black when Dean possessed it."

"I know. I've seen it before," Michael says. "I remember once combing through the contents of the vault, to take inventory, not long after my brother's fall. I saw it there among the other weapons."

"So it's a weapon?" Adam asks.

"No… it is a tool," Michael says slowly. "More of a guide than anything. Yes, it burns in the presence of God, if He wants to be found, if that is what you love most."

The former archangel turns around in the seat to look at Castiel, who realizes how strangely small the man looks without his massive wings.

"If you have that, you can find Dean, Sam, any Winchester," Michael explains. He smiles, radiating a noticeable amount of warmth. Castiel is slightly put off. "Don't be afraid of this; it does not mean you do not love our Father. It is the way God made you."

"Okay, Mike, point made. Enough Sunday school. Cas, you've gotta choose: do we go to heaven, or do we find Dean? And what about you?" Adam asks Michael. "Can you come to heaven?"

"I can… but I cannot say if I can stay," he admits. "I am human."

"Damn it, Mike! Why can't you just shove that grace back in you?" Adam exclaims. Michael grunts uncomfortably, shifting his seating position. "Cas, give us a minute?"

"Of course."

Castiel slides to the door and exits the Impala, his bag still on his shoulder. He walks up the road back the way they came. Glancing back, he sees Adam gesticulating angrily at a still calm Michael. The man nods and takes in what Adam says, and Adam makes to shove him, only Michael does not resist. They disappear from Castiel's view, so he turns away.

Castiel walks to the edge of the road and sits down, his legs trailing downhill. He sets his bag beside him and pulls out the gun. There are enough rounds in it in case they are attacked, though he doubts they will be of any use against anything but humans. The air is cold, still. He decides to put on that extra layer before they leave. He put the gun down beside him for the time being. He turns the bottle of grace over between his fingers. It is rather small, but it glows more brightly than any manmade light Castiel has ever seen. He removes the necklace to look properly at the bottle.

The grace is _there,_ in his hands, all for him. He could have the power of two of the most powerful angels in existence, plus his own. He could use it to go back, see what happened, and fix it all—after getting Adam to heaven, of course, and Michael, if he wants to go with him. But, even now, after everything, Castiel is not certain he wants it. He knows he will need at least some of its power in order to get Adam to heaven, unless they can get to the intersection of the worlds.

Castiel starts examining the map. He decides that if they can get to the place where they all emerged on earth they might be able to find the intersection. He stares at the map without really looking for another five minutes. He folds the map and directs his attention at the forest, but it is hardly different from any other forest. Finally Castiel stands and moves toward the car, curious as to why Adam and Michael are still out of view.

He does not have to come too close to the car to see why.

Adam is lying on top of Michael, and Michael's fingers are theading through Adam's hair. Michael's other hand is on Adam's back, his fingers pressing into the lean muscle through the back of his shirt. They have shed a layer at least, Castiel notices. Adam almost pulls out of Michael's grasp when Michael grabs him by the head and crushes him against his face. He kisses Adam with such ferocity, such unadulterated passion; his grasp on Adam is suddenly so tender and careful once he has Adam's lips against his, allowing Adam to dip into him for more.

"Adam, I still don't think Dean would like the way we are using his car," Michael says sounding utterly out of breath, yet utterly pleased.

Straddling Michael, Adam sits up and starts to take off his shirt, saying,

"Michael?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Adam descends, meeting Michael with an equal amount of fervor as the man had demonstrated before, back arching, muscles visibly tensing under Michael's trailing fingers. Castiel takes this as his cue to leave them, so he walks away, his bag feeling somewhat heavier than before. The amulet feels cold as ice, even through the fabric of his shirt, but Castiel only notices when it begins to burn, and a voice begins to speak.

"_Cas? Cas, I don't know if you can hear me, but damn it, I'm gonna try this anyway."_

"Dean?" Castiel says aloud. He looks around. He is alone on the road.

"_Listen to me. I dunno if you're dead, or if you're somewhere out there, 'cuz this world's fucked up now, so I don't even know anymore. But if you can hear me, __just listen. I'm going to be okay. Focus on the others."_

"What others?" Cas says. Desperation cracks his voice. "Dean!"

"_Sam. Find him. Make sure he's okay." _

"Can you hear me?" Cas says, wonder creeping into his voice. "Dean, I will find you, too. I swear it."

"_Cas… if you're okay, stay safe. Hell's on my tail but I can take 'em, as long as they don't find you." _

"Dean!" Cas cries. "Dean—"

The heat quickly fades from the amulet. Castiel grabs at it, rubs his hands against it, but the warmth is gone, as is Dean's voice. He feels shattered. Castiel drops his bag. A couple of rounds fall out and roll across the road.

"Oh."

Castiel takes a few steps toward the fallen rounds and bends to pick them up. His whole body feels heavy and tense and stiff, as though the hinges have not been oiled properly, or as though the strain is becoming too much. He feels weaker than he has in a while. Castiel tries to move his wings, but they feel more like paper at this point. His hand slides from the amulet to the bottle of grace.

_I only need a breath of it._

On the edge of the road he sits again, his head pounding horribly. Castiel takes the necklace off and presses his fingers around the cork. He pulls gently; it just budges, but that is enough. Castiel feels its release, even so slight a release. The small amount of grace fills him. He can sense the grains of something darker, presumably part Lucifer's damaged grace, but there is very little in the amount that finds Castiel. He inhales it all in one sharp breath. His wings stretch involuntarily; Castiel can feel them properly again, fleshy and lustrous as they once were. Air enters his lungs more easily now.

A short note from the car horn startles Castiel. He blushes and turns his back fully to the Impala and its inhabitants. The grace made him feel better, but Castiel cannot help but feel pulled down by a weight heavier than earth itself.

_Dean._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

They are on the way back to area where they all emerged on earth when Castiel feigns sleeping. After ten minutes or so, Adam and Michael begin to talk. Neither had said anything to Castiel by ways of an explanation for their extended _discussion_. Michael had only said it was cathartic, to which Adam reacted by almost driving off the road.

"Is he sleeping?" Adam asks. The seat creaks.

"It seems so," Michael says.

"Angels don't need to sleep."

"He is hardly an angel," Michael points out. Adam shrugs.

"I dunno. He didn't have much left in him, but he's still got some grace left," Adam says. "D'you think it's enough to get us to heaven?"

"Possibly."

"He has your grace, though," Adam says.

"Yes, but I already warned him against it," Michael says.

"Mike! Really?" groans Adam. "Damn it. What if he doesn't take it?"

"He will. He has taken some already," Michael says. "He does not need much to get us to heaven. Don't worry."

"You know, if you fucked this up—it's my only chance, Mike. I can't lose that."

"Yes, I know, but we must be honest with him," Michael insists. "You said it yourself, back in hell."

"Yeah, but that was hell. That was before all this happened! Things are different now."

"Oh?"

"Yes, they are! Mike, he's got other people he has to help. I just want to get to where I need to be before he goes running off."

"Won't you help him?" Michael asks, frowning. "He's done much for us already."

"Yeah."

"He kept you safe."

"I know."

"He has been good to you."

"He cares for Dean and Sam more than anything. I can't just believe he's gonna drop them to get me to heaven," Adam finally says. "I get it. He loves Dean. Like, _loves him_. He'll go through hell to save the asshole."

"He already has."

"My point exactly!"

"But I trust Castiel."

"So do I!"

"Then trust he will get us to where we need to go," Michael says soothingly. Adam says nothing for a few minutes.

"I missed you," he says quietly. "I've been going mad, every time I stopped thinking about real things. I just kept seeing you go under that water, over and over. I kept thinking, damn it, why didn't I go after him?"

"Adam, don't blame yourself."

"Fine," Adam says, though it is obvious that he only wants to shut Michael up.

"I'm glad we got to, uh, deal with matters earlier," Michael ventures.

"Really? How glad are we saying?"

"I'm willing to open the matter up again."

Adam starts to laugh.

"You're really shitty at this," he says, giggling.

"I'm sorry."

"No—it's great. It's… endearing."

"Can we find a more comfortable surface next time? Preferably a wider one?" Michael asks. Adam is still laughing, and this does not help him.

"Yeah. How's a bed?"

"It sounds good."

"Yeah, it does."

"Adam, I am sorry for troubling you," Michael says. He sounds sadder now, as though all the talk had been to mask what he is saying now. "I had no choice but to take out my grace. I would not have remained myself with that much corruption in me for much longer."

"You lasted long enough with it," Adam says.

"You don't know the difficulties I faced. If anything is to blame for our separation, it's this: constantly fighting his grace weakened me by the time we reached the edge of hell."

Adam says nothing.

"If it is any consolation, Adam, I like being human. I don't understand most of the things I feel and the way things that happen change those feelings, but it makes my experience as an angel seem so… numb. As an angel I could never feel for you as intensely as I do now as a human."

"What, you didn't feel like this before?" Adam asks sarcastically. "I'm hurt."

"That was not my intention!" Michael says quickly. "Really. That's not what I meant at all."

"Calm down. I know. I'm just joking."

"This is not a laughing matter. We are all we have right now. A badly planned word could destroy more than a simple sentence."

"Okay, Frost, I got it. Get some sleep."

The two fall silent for a while. Then, Michael says,

"My head hurts when I lean it like this, but then my shoulder hurts when I fix the problem with my head."

"What are you, five?" Adam grins. "Take one of the shirts from the bag back there and use it as a pillow."

"Thank you."

"Don't angels have these issues?"

"Sleeping positions? No."

"Oh, well, I can fix that."

"There are not many angels left, Adam. How are you going to—?"

"Michael," Adam says loudly. The seat shifts again.

Castiel changes position, sitting up to fix his trench coat, which he is using as a pillow. The flannel feels soft and warm on his skin. It is a little too large, and it smells faintly of the food they had made for dinner the night before the Change, and of soap. It was Sam's shirt.

"Good. He's still sleeping. Now, your turn."

"Good night," Michael says.

"Sweet dreams," he says, voice still dripping with sarcasm.

Castiel smiles into the shirt, for the Milligan resembled a Winchester, if only for a moment.

* * *

It does not take them long to reach the area where they all surfaced on earth. They arrive sometime during the night and sleep until morning. Castiel wakes before the rest. He is wary about sleeping for too long now. Adam leans on Michael's shoulder, snoring lightly. Feeling uncomfortable and somewhat claustrophobic, Castiel quietly slips out of the car. He leans against the trunk, hands in his pocket. The morning air is cold and visible on his every sigh.

Castiel starts to walk. He heads off the road through a patch of trees; it quickly opens up into a vast field—the field where Castiel woke. The tall grass brushes against his legs as he pads across the field. It starts to flatten and become increasingly brittle and colorless as the center of the field draws nearer. The ground crunches and cracks beneath his shoes until the ground itself is all that can be seen, and it stretches out like a bed of shattered glass. The layer of frost on the ground only makes the cracks in the ground deepen. Soon enough Castiel has to take larger steps to avoid the breaks in the ground.

In the center, there is a circle of green grass surrounded by a circular fissure. There, in the middle, Castiel woke from death, miles away from where he died. Castiel leaps onto the grass, his wings catching the air as he soars. The ground shakes; every piece of broken ground rattles when he lands.

"Cas!"

He looks up and around. Adam and Michael are making their way toward him. Castiel stands up straight and waits for them to approach.

"Hey! What are you doing out here?" Adam asks when they reach him.

"This is where I woke."

"How long ago was that?"

"Two months, maybe longer," Castiel replies.

"You were wandering around for _that long?_ Shit."

"Where did you—?"

"Out there," Adam says, pointing into the woods behind Castiel. "I remember the field was somewhere behind me. It sure as hell didn't look like this," he adds. "I just walked around in there until I came out in the open and made it to that town."

"Michael?"

"Out there as well, though I believe I came up in open ground at first. I do not remember where, exactly, but it was before I tore my grace out. I remember everything once I recovered."

"Why's it so… perfect?" Adam asks, nodding at the patch where Castiel stands.

"I can't say," Castiel says. "Perhaps some of my grace impacted the ground."

He turns away and walks further into the circle. In the middle, the ground slopes inward. Castiel gets down on his knees and pushes some of the grass away. There is something in the ground. Some of the grass is stained red. Castiel starts pulling grass away and digging through the dirt with his bare hands. The frost bites at his dry skin. He hits something sharp with the tip of his finger; it breaks the skin painfully. Castiel pulls his hand out to find that the end of his finger is open and glowing.

"Adam—"

"On it."

He jumps onto the circle and pulls out the needle and surgical thread from his bag. Adam sews up Castiel's finger in a matter of seconds before the impact of exposing the little grace he had left kicked in.

"You good?"

Castiel nods. Adam turns to the hole and digs around the thing that cut Castiel. He ends up with his arm up to his elbow in the ground.

"Hang on. I've almost… got it!"

He pulls out an angel blade, old and unlike any other Castiel has ever seen before, partly because its tip is missing.

"How… odd," Michael says, his head tilting in confusion.

"Cas… you got that piece?"

He hands Adam the tip, which fuses back onto the blade before the pieces even touch. The blade glows silver in his hand.

"Is that normal? Guys?"

"No."

"Blades don't break. Not normal ones," Michael says, troubled. "May I?"

Adam hands Michael the blade before turning to Castiel.

"What now?"

"We go into the forest," Castiel says. "It seems that is where the portal is."

"Castiel," interrupts Michael. "Never mind."

Castiel looks at him curiously, but Michael only continues examining the blade, turning it over in his hands as though it is a king's scepter rather than a simple blade. Adam stands up, offering Castiel a hand. He takes it. They cross over the gap onto the dead grass. Michael follows them slowly into the forest.

Suddenly, the air has a different taste, more like cinnamon than parsley, and a different texture, too. Castiel grips the hilt of the angel blade at his hip with one hand and the gun with the other. Adam senses the change in the air as well; he takes his steps more hesitantly and waits for Michael.

"Why did you stop?" Michael asks.

"I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Can't you feel it? Something's really fucking off about this place."

"Certainly, but we'll press on, no?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Are you scared, Adam?" Michael asks slyly.

"No!"

"I may be human but I can still protect you," he says seriously. "I am still a warrior."

"That's not really a problem to me," Adam says with a small laugh. "You still got that knife?"

"Dean really didn't think he'd need it, even if hell's on his ass?"

"He told me to take it. He wouldn't let me leave without it," Michael says.

"But… why?"

"Personally, I believe he was hoping I could… how did he say it? _Gank_ Crowley? Since he was rumored to be on earth. He said payback's payback as long as it happens."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He seems to think Crowley's wrongs are still relevant, even so long after the Change."

"Maybe he had something to do with it," Adam says, lowering his voice, "like some of them down there were thinking."

"The abominations talked of many things."

"Yeah, like—"

"This discussion can wait. Castiel?" Michael shouts abruptly. He looks around, searching, but Castiel is out of view.

Castiel can see them, though, yet it is as though he watches them through a veil. Michael and Adam rush toward him and pass through the veil. The forest is exactly the same, the air sweeter and more fragrant than ever, but there is one difference: water audibly runs nearby. It is loud and almost overcomes all other senses. Castiel can hardly hear himself speak over the roar of the water when he asks if Adam and Michael are okay. They nod, clearly overwhelmed. Castiel turns and takes a step forward. His shoe catches on a curling root; it is strangely soft. The ground itself is spongy and moist. He powers forward.

The ground becomes like mud. Water quickly appears in a wide stream to their left. They follow the water until the dirt turns from mud into packed sand. Castiel's shoes slide on the slope of the shore. The streams widens into the mouth of a river that pours into a great expanse of deep blue water. On the horizon, directly ahead of the mouth, there is land. The sky above is dark and almost greenish. The waters on the right of the bit of visible land turn dark and turbulent while the waters to the right are almost whitish and strangely calm.

"I remember this," Adam says, coming up on Castiel's right side. His eyes are wide and fixed on the distant land. "I remember climbing up on this damn beach and hiking through those woods for ages."

"As do I," states Michael.

"Please. You didn't have to swim from purgatory to here; you _flew_."

"I still remember it," he scowls. Adam shrugs.

"_That's_ purgatory?" asks Castiel.

"Yup."

"So heaven…?"

"Over there. Somewhere to the right," Adam points. "And hell's the other way. Good times, right Mike?"

"The best," he says sourly.

"Come on, there were _some_ decent times," Adam says with a wink. Castiel instantly turns and starts to walk away.

"I'm going to walk around."

He departs with a dramatic turn of his coat. Adam watches him go with a look of pity.

"Something wrong?" Michael asks, coming up right behind him. He winds his hands around Adam's waist.

"Cas. I just… they were talking about him, Mike. I can't get past it."

"You did long enough to befriend the man."

"The angel," corrects Adam. "He's still an angel. Mike, they were saying some really weird things. You remember."

"Yes, I do," he murmurs. Michael's lips graze the side of Adam's neck. "I do not think we need to concern ourselves with him right now."

"Oh, really? So you don't think that rumor about him and Crowley was true?"

"I didn't say that," Michael says instantly, "but it makes very little sense. He perished, and things changed simultaneously. I cannot see how Castiel could have made some kind of arrangement with the king of hell under the circumstances."

"Crowley could have been the one who killed him," speculates Adam.

"I doubt that," Michael replies. "It did not seem that the Winchesters knew who killed Castiel."

"Dean wants to kill Crowley," Adam muses, "but he does sound like a prick, so."

"From what I learned from Dean, their problems with Crowley go further back than their most recent struggle with him," Michael explains. "He said Crowley appeared after Castiel died; Crowley did not kill him."

"That still doesn't mean Cas wasn't in league with him," Adam says pointedly. "But he's already done that… and it didn't work out. I dunno why he'd do it again."

"It is rather… complicated," Michael agrees. "I don't think the Castiel we have with us did anything to cause the Change."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Can we sit?" Adam asks. Michael nods. They descend onto the beach. Adam settles in Michael's arms. "You weren't so touchy-feely before now."

"Hell's not the most romantic place, Adam."

"I get that, but is it because you're human? Like, you said you feel _more_, so…."

"I am smitten with you, Adam," Michael says with a smile. He kisses Adam's forehead. "I am sorry for the circumstances under which we came together, but now that that's over, I hope we never part."

"God, you sound like a girl who had a crush on me in he ninth grade," Adam grins. He turns over and pins Michael to the ground. "I like it better coming from you."

"Do you? What else shall I say?"

"Anything, Mike. I don't care."

Michael moves like lightning and Adam is under him now. Michael presses a kiss to Adam's lips; he is met with a soft moan and arousing enthusiasm.

"I quite like you," Michael says, hardly removing his lips from Adam's. Adam smiles and parts Michael's lips. He dives in for a full-mouthed kiss, locking Michael in place for several seconds.

"I think I like you, too," he says somewhat breathlessly. His blue eyes shine, the blue sky reflecting off them. Michael's hand runs up Adam's side, dragging the ends of his t-shirt with it. Adam grabs his hand and puts it on his bare waist. Michael explores from there. "God. We didn't get the chance to do any of this in hell."

"Certainly not, especially with Lucifer around the cage," Michael says in a pause between kisses. "Adam…."

"Oh, what now?"

Michael sits up and slides over. He looks distant. Adam raises himself on his elbows.

"What's wrong?"

"Castiel."

"You got the hots for him, too, now?"

"No, nothing is burning," Michael says, shaking his head. "I am starting to understand, I believe. We must find him, make plans."

"He'll be back soon," Adam says dismissively. "Really. Let him scope the place out. We've got time to ourselves for the first time, ever. Don't kill it, dumbass."

Adam sweeps up and takes Michael by the back of the head. He kisses him softly at first, with more intensity as Michael responds. Hands reach and grab at desperate places, their bodies pressing against each other, generating heat and friction and pleasured moans, but by the time Castiel returns they are asleep in each others' arms, looking more like children than lovers. Michael's head is tucked under Adam's chin, his one arm splayed out over Adam's body. His nose is pressed against the top of Adam's chest. Adam's hands hold onto Michael tensely, as thought he fears Michael will dissolve in his arms. Each breath ruffles Michael's hair; the tickle against Adam's nose leaves him smiling in his sleep.

Castiel gazes at the two. He understands: they love each other. They were never enemies in the cage: there was only ever Lucifer. Michael and Adam supported each other and respected each other, though only God knows how long it took for them to reach that point, and came to care for each other far more than a human and an angel should by most standards. To Castiel, it is unusual, considering the righteous, strong archangel Michael once was, to see the man curled within the human's hold, protected by the arms of one so defenseless. But he understands the way creatures, human or supernatural, can be changed by love.

_They are His greatest creation because of the love they are capable of feeling, the extent of which an angel could never truly experience_.

But Castiel already knew this.

* * *

"So, what's bugging you?" Dean said not long after the lights of the motel faded from view.

"It is inconsequential," Cas said. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"I did. I told you: we know so little about where angels go to rest upon death. It is disconcerting," he said, staring straight ahead at the road.

"Something tells me there's more than that going on in that head of yours," Dean said. "Look, I know, I'm not really Dr. Phil or Delilah, or some one people can just talk to, but, uh, you can do that."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. Anytime, Cas. You're too quiet these days."

"There is not always something to say, Dean."

"Hey, I get that, but that's different from holding back. Trust me. I know."

"Why are we discussing this?" Cas asked tiredly. "You aren't one who usually _discusses_ things."

"Yeah, I know, but—I figured I'd try. No harm in that, right?"

"I suppose…."

"Now, out with it. What's eating at you? It's gotta be something more than this afterlife worry of yours. You think you're going to die soon? Is that why you're all freaked out about it now?"

"Any of us can die at any time."

"Cheery."

"I do not want to die."

"Does anyone?"

"No, but… there is so much more here, on earth. If I die, I don't have any place in which to exist, Dean. You would have heaven. I would have nothing."

"You really think so?" he asked, looking over at Cas. The angel nodded. "It's depressing but what can you do?"

"There is not much. I only… I wish—no. Never mind."

"What?"

"Please disregard that."

"Cas…."

"_Humanity_, Dean. That is all I want," Cas finally burst. "If there's anything I desire, it's to be like you, and Sam. Is it—is it not plain? How… how _envious_ I am? It is pitiful."

"Whoa, no. I don't get it; why would you want to be human? You're a freaking angel, Cas. You can do things we can't even imagine, and you've got the Big Man on your side. That's a plus we ain't got!"

"Hardly," said Castiel. "Our Father no longer cares. We are but animals with higher powers, running about with our heads cut off, much like starfish attempting to cross the sea floor with one arm missing prior to regrowing one."

"Okay, okay, so it's a bit messy up there. We're screwed up in ways you guys aren't. Why the hell would you want that?"

"It is complicated."

"Try again, Cas."

"We don't need to discuss this any further," Cas said forcefully. Dean swerved sharply and pulled over on the side of the empty road. There are no streetlights; the only illumination comes from the sky above. Dean turns the car off and turns toward Cas, arm slung halfway over the seat, his hand close to Cas's back.

"You know what I need?" Dean said. He looked Cas dead in the eye. "I need Sam to be happy. I need him to be okay with hunting and being in the life with me, and, hell, if he doesn't want to do it, I want him to have a house and a girl and, hell, even a dog. But he can't do that unless we close those gates to hell."

"I understand that."

"But that's, like, a _need_. Do you see that?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't. Cas, you want to be human because you need some kind of… finality, some way of knowing you'll be happy or something. But, god, you can't do that right now, not when we need you like this, an angel."

"You need to use my powers."

"Yeah. No."

"Oh, I understand, Dean."

Cas popped out of the Impala, appearing not far down the road. He watched Dean get out.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You can't just—disappear!"

"I'm an angel, Dean. I can do that if I want; it comes with the powers."

Dean rounded on Cas and stormed right up to him.

"You listen to me. Don't go ripping out your grace just 'cuz you think it'll make you happier. No. You've gotta learn to be happy with what you've got. You can change stuff, you've got free will, yeah, but you've gotta fucking think about it, Cas! Consequences! I know I don't ever do that, but that doesn't mean you should! You're—," Dean stopped short. He almost took a half-step back before rethinking and remaining strangely close to Castiel. "You're just fine the way you are, Cas."

"I would be of little use to you if I were human."

"No! Goddamn it! That's not what I'm saying!" he roared. "You. The way you are. It's good. Don't just change that because you think something else might be better, not when you've just gotten back from being _not _you! C'mon, we—we just got you back up to full speed. Don't go self-destructing on us."

"You don't understand, Dean. The torture of being resurrected time and time again—I will _never_ have peace as an angel. Someone out there keeps bringing me back as some cruel punishment for some offence I may have dealt them. I… am tired. I am growing tired."

Dean softens.

"We've all said that at some point but, damn it, we're still here."

"I would not die. I'd be something… more incredible. God's most perfect creation. It is difficult now to be here among you but not truly be one of you."

"Cas, we're really not that appealing…."

"Are you? You can savor, and enjoy, and desire, and love—these are things we cannot do by nature. You can suffer and toil and it will be rewarded because it is not expected of you, but we exist out of necessity and for purpose. We will not be rewarded for doing what is expected of us."

Cas felt weak upon understanding, truly understanding. He started walking back toward the Impala, Dean following, taking slow, long steps.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, I really didn't think we were coming out here for an existential crisis," Dean said, running his hand over his face wearily. "I thought—"

"There was something more?" Cas asked, his mouth forming a small smile. He hesitated, but Cas said, "Perhaps there is… an underlying motive."

Cas turned around and leaned against the trunk of the car. He dug his hands into his pockets. Dean stood across from him, his expression guarded.

"What you said before, about desires, and how they are human by nature—we have them, but when we act upon them, there is nowhere near as much satisfaction as what a human would feel, I estimate," Cas explained. "So we often do nothing."

"Right…."

"You described needs, Dean. I am not certain, but I detect something else."

"Oh?" Dean said. His voice sounded weak, uncertain. "Like what?"

"Something you have not expressed. There is something more troubling you," Cas said with a light frown. "I am... not Delilah, nor Samson for that matter, but I am still Castiel, your friend."

"That you are," Dean said. "Just… promise me you'll stay an angel."

"I cannot do that."

"Cas—"

"For the time being, yes, but after the gates are closed—"

"We'll talk about it again," promised Dean, "and weigh out your options."

"Okay. Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah, Cas. Any time."

He half-turned to go toward the car, but then he stopped himself; Dean shifted over next to Cas, leaning back against the car. He looked up at the stars.

"Wish Sam was here. The nerd likes stars and constellations and shit."

"These are the same stars we see in heaven, where the true sky can be seen," Cas said.

"Really?"

"Yes. I often spent time on the highest roofs of certain heavens, or in the open spaces that are our own," Cas recounted. "Often I was alone, since most angels were busy with other things. I learned that our skies are the same when I was first sent to earth."

"You and the humans were on the same page, gawking up at the sky," Dean joked.

"We were," Cas said seriously. "I believe that was when I started to fall in love."

"Fall in love?" repeated Dean.

"Yes. With humans," he clarified. "It is not like loving a person, though. It is grand and filling, yet it stretches thinly. It is insufficient. It leaves you feeling rather empty, as though there is something that could fill it."

"Hell, maybe there is; maybe there's a cookie cutter stopper somewhere."

"It is possible."

"But being human won't cut it."

"No," sighed Cas. "I am aware of this. It is as though wanting to be human left me with a human desire: love. It is something… that all deserve. I am rather lost, Dean. Is that the case?"

"Maybe. It's not really for me to decide that," Dean shrugged.

"What's missing? What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing. Hell, you sound more human than a lot of people," Dean added with a chuckle. Cas gave him a miserable look. "Sorry! Geez."

"Don't bother," he said sullenly.

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Advice?" Cas asked curiously. "I'm not certain how well you understand my perspective on the situation, but your words are welcome."

"Just, uh. If there's something you want to do, do it. As an angel, of course."

"I don't—"

"Look, if you're confused, or if you're not sure how you feel about something, go for a test drive. Like, if you weren't sure if you'd like pie, try pie to see for sure."

"Try… the pie?" Cas repeated with a look of incredulity. Dean almost smiled at it.

"Just do it, if you think it'll feel good."

"But… what if it doesn't?"

"Well, I mean, you can't go ripping out your grace just because you think it'll make you feel better when you're really not sure it'll make you feel good. Hell, maybe you can feel good as an angel."

"So… am I doing something wrong? Should I be ingesting more pie?"

"Damn it, Cas—"

Dean leaned across and pressed his lips against Castiel's for a few short seconds before pulling away. He looked just as shocked as Cas felt.

"Uh—," Cas stammered.

"That was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it'd be," Dean said, sounding totally relieved. Cas can sense the absence of the tension that he had embodied up until then.

"Was that what you desired?" Cas asked.

"Yeah. Yeah," Dean said. "I'm sorry if that wasn't what you—"

"It was. You guessed correctly," Cas said. He felt ease settle on his shoulders, and something stir within him. His lips tingled where Dean had kissed him; instinctively he licked his lips, drawing Dean's eyes toward them. "It was pleasant."

"Good," Dean said.

"May I?"

Before Dean answered, Cas placed his hand behind Dean's head and led him gently toward him. His body turned so that he stood before Cas, not next to him. Dean's hands carefully found their place around Cas's body, chastely positioned at the waist. Cas pulled his face down closer to his, Dean resting his forehead lightly on Cas's for a moment. Cas's eyes locked on Dean's. Sweet joy filled him as he stared at them openly. Dean cupped Cas's face in his hand, running his thumb absently over his cheek. Electricity ran along Cas's skin wherever Dean touched him.

Dean's grip tightened and he pulled the angel's body closer. The heat radiating through their clothes was too much. Cas leaned forward, arching into him, and kissed him. The sensation rang through Cas's whole body, sending a clean shiver down his back so strongly that the ground seemed to shake, and the air around them seemed to ring, too. Cas's wings shot out to full length. Dean laughed into Cas's mouth.

"Excited?"

"Dean, please."

Cas pulled him right back into the kiss and moved his lips and tongue with far more passion and urgency than before. Dean could feel the longing, the gaping hole in the angel, Cas was certain. It must have been plain the moment Castiel succumbed to it that Cas _hungered_. Dean made it clear he was prepared to satisfy him, that this was his desire as well.

Dean tore Cas's trenchcoat off, then the suit jacket, and let them slide off the car onto the pavement. Cas shivered slightly in the cool air. Dean responded by leaning further onto Cas, holding him more tightly, his one hand resting in the small of his back, the other gently on his neck. He ran his hands over Cas's body, searching with his nails, begging to explore beneath the button-down shirt. He cupped Cas's face in his hands and stepped back.

"Cas…."

"Is something wrong?" Cas asked, panting. Dean smiled. His lips were raw.

"Nah, just… this is different. Good, but different."

"Believe me, I understand that."

"We should get back to Sam," Dean said, though it clearly pained him to speak it. Cas agreed, though. He picked up his suit jacket and put it on. Dean waited with the coat in hand. Cas pulled his arms through the tangled sleeves, Dean helping him just a little.

"Thank you," Cas murmured. They got back into the car; Dean turned the Impala around and started driving back to the motel.

"You gonna keep that promise?"

"I never promised anything."

"Well, can you do it now? Cas, we can make this work. Tell me that didn't feel good."

"It felt more than good, Dean."

"Good," Dean said. "Great. There'll be a hell of a lot more of that, but just—don't do anything stupid, not 'til we're done."

"Of course."

"You swear?"

"I do."

"And then we'll talk at the end of all this, before you do something stupid then?"

"Certainly."

"Good."

Castiel lied flat out to Dean. They drove back in silence. Dean did not realize this, of course, but it was a fact. Until Dean kissed him, Cas was willing to wait and make a decision; he was willing to reconsider humanity. Some part of him still could happily embrace being an angel. But after that, after experiencing a taste the closeness to Dean he truly wanted more than anything, Cas knew his decision was made. The grace would go—it'd be after closing the gates of hell, yes, but Cas decided that after the abominations were permanently locked away, there would be little use for his grace. Humanity would remain on earth, and he wanted to be part of it, not only for the full experience of life and whatnot, but for the full experience of Dean, of being with Dean, of loving him and feeling the emotions as strongly his mind did—something he could never truly do the way he was.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Castiel had hung around, lurking in the trees, to listen to Adam and Michael. He had felt it necessary after overhearing them in the car. What Castiel heard unsettled him; it was starting to feel as though there was a glaring hole in the story they all knew. Michael had said he had a guess. Castiel, curled up on the beach with his knees drawn up under his chin, the ends of the coat draped over them, hopes Michael and Adam will wake soon.

The amulet is still warm on his chest. He did walk around the island, and the most peculiar—the most unsettling—thing of all happened. On one end of the island, the part closest to heaven, the amulet burned as hot as it had when Castiel found Adam. Then, when he approached the edge closest to hell, once again, the amulet burned. The humming warmth through the t-shirt is no consolation.

_This is an ordeal, a test. There is no other explanation._

Castiel stands and wipes the sand off his coat. He climbs up the beach near where the trees meet the sand. Adam and Michael are still sleeping, limbs comfortably intertwined. Adam's fingers curl around Michael's hair on the top of his head. The blade they found in the ground rests on Michael's hip strung through a belt loop. Castiel carefully removes it. The blade is heavier than Castiel expects it to be, and the design is ever so slightly different from the typical angel blade. Yes, at first glance, it looks to be standard order, but it is not. The balance is different, the symbols winding around the hilt are unusual, and the fact that the tip even broke at all is stranger than anything.

Neither shows any sign of waking so Castiel leaves them and wanders into the forest with the blade. He rolls it on his palm, weighing it still. He grips it and slashes at the air; a _zing_ echoes after it. The blade itself hums and vibrates. Castiel is certain there is something curious it, and it puts him off.

A branch cracks to his left. Castiel turns, blade extended. He catches the shift of a shadow behind a patch of trees. He approaches, taking his steps carefully. The leaves crunch around the tree. Castiel lunges. The man darts past him, hissing. Castiel follows him into the open space. He, too, carries a blade.

"Demon," Castiel spits.

"How rude," he replies.

The demon dives at Castiel slashing madly. Castiel avoids him and starts to make his way back to the beach where demon-killing blade is—with Michael and Adam. Castiel stops short. He feels the rush of air as the demon catches up to him and brings the blade down over his head. Castiel spins around into a half-crouch and, without thinking, plunges his blade into the demon's torso. The demon freezes. The gold glow flickers behind the demon's eyes all the way down his neck. The angel blade falls unceremoniously out of his hand. Castiel pulls his blade out. The demon hits the ground, limbs splayed at odd angles.

Castiel gapes as he stands. The blade in his hand hums happily. A light golden glow blankets the edges of the blade and fills the little symbols on the hilt. Castiel wipes the blood off on the grass before walking back to the beach.

"Cas! There you are," Adam says, running up to him. "We heard shit going down in the woods. You okay?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"You don't sounds fine."

"I'm troubled. This blade killed a demon."

"It's a regular angel blade," Adam states.

"Precisely. Where is Michael?" Castiel asks. Adam nods over his shoulder. Michael stands not far behind Adam staring off toward heaving. Castiel brushes past the boy and walks purposefully up to the former archangel.

"Castiel, we have some matters to discuss," he says when Castiel reaches him. He speaks without turning to look at him.

"We do. Michael—"

"Do not bother; I already know what that blade can do," Michael says, holding up a hand.

"You and Adam spoke of rumors in hell, of me…."

"You were listening," Michael says. He does not sound surprised.

"Yes. Now, explain."

"Castiel, you're giving orders to me?" Michael says, feigning surprise. Castiel's expression does not change. Michael sighs. "Yes. There were whispers. We do not understand them."

"They said I was working with Crowley again."

"Yes, but I am certain you, as you are now, would not have done that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I am not sure… but I do know that Crowley did not kill you."

"How?"

"Dean. He did not talk much about that day, but he did say this when I inquired."

"But it had to have been someone in league with Crowley who killed me, someone directly connected with all this," Castiel says, indicating the three sections of the afterlife visible before them.

"This picture is incomplete," nods Michael, "but I think I understand one thing. Whoever it was, you or someone else—it is completely possible that the demons in hell are bad at relaying information about the King's plans—whoever was working with Crowley was an angel."

"How can you be certain?"

"That," he says, pointing at the blade in Castiel's hand. "That blade has been in the vaults of heaven since the fall of Lucifer. The only way it could be out here is if an angel removed it."

"This is strange," he frowns. "You said the amulet came from the vault as well."

"Originally, yes, but it found its way to earth a long time ago; that story is inconsequential. Castiel, do not worry about if you are the one who worked with Crowley. At this point, it does not matter. What is important is that we get Adam to heaven, and that we find the Winchesters. Adam needs to be safe before we start working on fixing this mess."

"Won't you stay with him?"

"I want to…."

"Why not? You love him."

Michael actually stops, opening and shutting his mouth. The man's face turns pink.

"I want to spend eternity with Adam. I never believed I could love anything other than our Father, and I never imagined it could consume me like so," Michael says, shaking his head. He is smiling. "Castiel, even if I am human, my duty is still to heaven. If I can help you, I will. I swear it, so long as you swear to return me to Adam at the end of all this."

"I do," Castiel says.

"Saying vows, gentlemen?" Adam asks, joining them. He finds his place next to Michael. "What's the plan?"

"Heaven. We will find your heaven," Michael says, smiling at Adam. He kisses him lightly on the top of his head.

"You sure? Both of you?"

"Entirely," Castiel says.

"How are we getting there?" Adam asks.

"Uh."

"The grace," Michael states. "Castiel, take a small amount. Do not take it all unless you must. You do not need much to get us to heaven."

"We can always swim," Adam suggests.

"I do not know how to swim," Michael says, his eyes widening slowly.

"I was joking, jeez. I'll teach you sometime."

"Thank you."

Castiel takes a few steps back, tucking the blade in his coat. Michael watches him carefully. Castiel opens the bottle of grace slowly. Some of the bluish light slithers into the air around him. Castiel inhales it in one sweet breath. He stretches his wings, feeling taller, mightier, stronger than ever.

"Enough, Castiel."

He screws the bottle shut and withdraws his wings.

"Good," Michael says, though he still eyes bottle caution. "Take us away."

Castiel nods. He reaches forward, extending two fingers with each hand, and touches each man on the forehead. In less than a second, the ground is grassy. The air is calm and quiet. The sky is blue, completely spotless. There is no one around to appreciate it, for that world—Castiel's home—is empty as ever.

_Heaven._

Michael breathes deeply.

"It is different," he says, "but I suppose that it because of everything that has happened."

"Partly because of me," Castiel supplies, gazing off, "but everyone is gone now."

"Where are they? I get the humans are dead, but this doesn't add up," Adam says.

"Not sure," Castiel says. "When I came up here after returning, it was the same: empty."

"And before?"

"When I was alive? Last time I was here it was as full as it could be."

"More the reason to think it was some angel who sided with Crowley," Adam says darkly. "Anything else odd up here, Cas?"

"The armory was empty. Dusty. The air was rather stale."

"So it was like that for a while before you got up here," Adam notes. "I'm starting to think your whole death-rebirth thing wasn't instantaneous this time around."

"Why?"

"Well, unless someone robbed heaven long before you died and came up here, there's no reason for it to be dusty, right?" Adam reasons. "You don't remember anything at all?"

"No. Nothing before waking, or after dying."

"There may be a gap," murmurs Michael.

"How can that be, though? I've never had that happen before."

"Perhaps whoever raised you in the past is not who raised you this time."

Silence falls between the trio for several moments. Adam begins to wander.

"Hey, where're the people?"

"Their heavens are beyond our portion of heaven."

"Did you go out there when you came here?" Adam asks. His eyes shine slightly.

"I did not. I still hoped there was life left on earth—I did not think it prudent to intrude, not after everything I did," Castiel says. He briefly looks away. "This is a miserable place now. Our home is empty, Michael, and I am sorry for it. I slaughtered our kind."

"From what I understand, you did your best—"

"I did, but my methods… they were so skewed. I could see no other way, yet it was so plain," Castiel says, his voice straining.

"There's no use going off about it now, Castiel. Please. We have to manage with what we have on our plate right now. Do I have to make that an order?"

Castiel looks up, shocked. Michael looks at Castiel with a look of total authority, total power, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the angel, his mouth an unreadable line. Castiel stands a little straighter.

"No."

"Good. Now, let's go. Adam's got a place to be."

Michael leads them away from the grassy patch where they landed, Castiel following him and Adam out of the garden into the main field. At the near end of the field is a marker.

"Out there is where the human heavens begin," Michael tells Adam.

"You guys don't have much space to yourselves," he notes.

"We don't need space. We are soldiers; all we need are places to train and store weapons, a place to organize. Otherwise, we spend time in the heavens of various people. It all depends on the angel."

"Where did you like to go?"

"Me?" Michael asks, surprised. "I did not spend much time in one heaven. I did pass a while in the heaven of a nine-year-old girl who was killed in one of the many wars in Europe during the Renaissance. She was with her other siblings, who also were murdered. They had a field and a garden and a small house with a well beside it. The sky was always slightly gray there, as though it was about to rain. Sometimes it _did_ rain, and they all played out there together. I enjoyed watching their happiness. They could never have found it on earth."

"What bastards killed them?" growls Adam.

"Some mercenaries. I checked; they have been on the rack for a long time," he adds with a smile. "Come. We must find your mother."

"Cas?" Adam calls. The angel is walking quite slowly toward them, clearly still troubled. "Come on, get your ass over here."

"You sound more like a Winchester," remarks Michael.

"No, I don't! I'm a Milligan, Mike."

"I know," he says softly, looking at Adam tenderly. "You will always be Adam Milligan."

"Yours," Adam adds.

"Yes. Mine."

"So you'll stay?" Adam asks. He sounds almost desperate. "I want you to meet my mom; she'd like you. She's always said I should find someone… well, like you. Polite. Kind. Strong. Supportive. Loving."

"Am I really all those things to you?"

"Yes, and a million more. Mike, please—"

"I'll stay. I swear it."

"But…?"

"But what?"

"I can hear it. You've got something holding you back."

Michael hesitates.

"Do not stay with me, Michael," Castiel says, finally joining them. "I will manage alone. Be with Adam, if only because you can."

"Castiel—"

"Let's go."

He touches their foreheads without warning. The world stops and shifts forward, to the right, and ahead again. Everything slows. The colors, blended together, slide down the walls around them and settle into place.

Castiel does not recognize the kitchen. It is dark, but for a light down the hall. The sun is setting, or rising. A door at the front of the house opens and shuts. Adam migrates toward the door of the kitchen, blocking the hall from view. His shoulders are tense at first, but as though shut off, they relax and sag. He runs forward into the arms of a woman. Her purse hits the floor; a tube of Chapstick only rolls further when Adam steps back, almost slips, and sends it barreling toward the kitchen. Michael picks it up slowly and places it on the kitchen table. He and Castiel silently slip out the back door into the yard.

Michael turns his back to the house.

"Maybe I should leave," he says suddenly, making for the gate. Castiel stops him.

"Adam wants you here."

Michael nods. He looks pale, descending into a patio chair. There is rain on the table.

"Castiel—"

"Michael, Dean is no longer in purgatory," Castiel says, looking straight at the former archangel. "I walked along the beach. The amulet burned hot near hell, and near heaven. The Winchesters are separate, and I fear Dean is the one in hell."

"How do you know it's not the other?" he asks.

"I… cannot say. I cannot imagine Sam dying and going to hell. Dean, however he ended up in purgatory, was running from hell, as you said."

"Then they may have caught him," Michael says. "If so, this is reason to worry."

"Yes."

"Castiel, Dean did not die. Somehow, he ran to purgatory. He hid there, since he knew it so well. Somehow, he evaded Crowley, but it was because Crowley wanted something from him," Michael says. "I do not know what, but I fear for Dean if his time of running has ended."

"What if… what if all this is my fault?" Castiel says, his voice cracking. "What if I am the traitor, at the end of all this?"

"You, as you are, are not the traitor," Michael says firmly.

"Yes, as I am, but what if that's just it? You emphasize that far too much, Michael."

"I know no more than you at this point. I have theories, but they are about the armory, the vault. We must go there, once Adam has settled."

"Aren't you staying?"

"I will… but I cannot abandon the angels, not now. We are in this together, brother."

Michael holds out his arm.

"Take it. I will fight with you. Adam, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"He wants his rest."

"Adam is not one to lie down and let the world's chaos unfurl. He will arrange it the way he wants it to be, if he can," Michael says, the corner of his mouth upturned. "So, will you accept me, Castiel?"

"I, accept you?" Castiel says, sounding more embarrassed than anything. "I have never heard a stranger thing."

Michael reaches and grabs Castiel's arm. Castiel nods a small nod, agreeing finally.

"Adam will understand."

The door opens, right on cue. Adam and Kate walk out on the porch. Michael jumps to his feet, color rising in his face. Something hitches visibly in his throat.

"Mom, this is Michael," he says, indicating the nervous man. Michael shakily takes her hand and presses a formal kiss on the back of it.

"Thank you," she smiles.

"He's an old soul," beams Adam.

"I'm very glad you're here, Michael," Kate says, smiling as well. Michael still looks ready to collapse. "Adam seems fond of you."

"As I am of him, Ma'am."

"Ma'am? Oh, please. Kate."

"Sorry, Kate."

"It's fine," she says, still smiling. "And you?" she asks, turning to Castiel.

"That's Cas," Adam says. "He's an angel."

"I'd have thought I'd find more of those up here, but it's rare," she says.

"Many are dead, or gone. It is hard to say," Castiel states.

"Yeah, I guessed that," says Kate, putting on a familiar sarcastic tone. "So, we have an angel, a former angel, and a kid from Minnesota. Kind of a motley crew. How'd that happen?"

"Long story, mom," Adam says. "Really long."

"I'd like to hear it, all the same," she says, sounding very much like a mother at that moment. Adam quails a bit. "How about a bite, and some drinks, while we chat?"

"Got beer?" Adam asks. His mother gives him a look. "What? We're all, like, dead. No drinking age in heaven, I think."

"Right, well, there are some perks to being dead," she says, rolling her eyes at her son. "Michael, why don't you come help me out? We'll grab the beers and some sandwiches."

"Uh, sure. Of course, Kate."

Kate leads Michael into the house, winking at Adam on her way. Adam does not stop smiling. He sinks into one of the patio chairs. There are a few stray tears on his face. He looks up into the kitchen window. Michael is standing awkwardly by the refrigerator, handing Kate various packages of food from the fridge. Adam starts to laugh and shake his head; he takes his head into his hands and leans on his elbows on his knees.

"Castiel, thank you. I can't… I can stay here forever with them. I just… I never thought I could feel really _good_ again."

"You deserve your severance, Adam, after everything," Castiel agrees without looking at him. A plate shatters in the kitchen. Adam starts to laugh.

"God, I can't believe this. _This_. Cas… where will you go?"

"To hell," he says. "I have reason to believe Dean is there. I have to understand why this happened, and if I can fix it."

"You didn't do this," he frowns.

"Maybe, maybe not, but I will find a way to repair this. The last thing I want is to be in a world where humanity is dead."

"I get it," Adam says. His shoulders start to slump. "Do you want me to help?"

"I would rather you be safe here."

"But Michael wants to help you. That's what you were talking about," Adam says. "I get it. I do. Michael might be human now, but he's still loyal to you and the angels."

"I tried reasoning with him."

"Hard to reason with a former archangel. It's like arguing with the Empire State Building."

A chain of crashes and shattering plates clutters the quiet air.

"Jesus, Mike's _not_ doing well with the plates," Adam winces. "I'm gonna go help him."

Adam rises from the chair, walks to the door, and stops. He nearly presses his nose up against the window. Then, he backs away slowly; he does not take his eyes off whatever is in the kitchen. Castiel starts to rise, but Adam hold out a hand, waving frantically at him to stop. Adam's other hand is balled up into a fist.

"Cas," he says without moving his lips. He glances back; his face is a mask, but there are fear and anger there. Castiel stands at full height.

"Adam—"

"Run. Before—"

"Before what, pray tell?"

Castiel turns around. Crowley stands in the yard, hands behind his back, in his cleanly tailored suit, looking all too pleased.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Crowley," Castiel growls.

"Back from the dead… again? That storyline's getting a bit old, chap."

"I have little say in that."

"It's only curious because I watched you die," Crowley says casually, "but we don't have to talk about it."

"Leave this place, Crowley. Now."

Castiel steps off the porch and levels himself with Crowley.

"Ah, well, I don't think so. You see, your being alive is news to me, but the escape of one archangel and his former vessel is not, and I rather want them back in their cage," Crowley says softly, "so if you don't mind, I'll take them back now."

"You will not touch them," Castiel says angrily. He looks back; Adam still stands by the door, frozen. Castiel pops next to him and pushes Adam behind him.

"Castiel, enough with the heroics! Why do you care? They just used you to get to heaven. Doesn't that hurt you at all?" he drawls. "I feel hurt just putting myself in your shoes."

"They are my friends. I help my friends when they need it," Castiel says calmly. "You will back down, Crowley, or I will force you back into hell."

"Oh, I plan on going back as soon as I get what I came for," he says with a sly smile. "It's all too clean up here."

"How did you—?"

"How did we get here? Followed you, you simpleton. You led us to the island at the border near earth. From there, we could follow your stench up here."

"But hell and purgatory—"

"Have merged, as has heaven, but heaven has maintained its distance, somehow. The stretch between purgatory and heaven is a bit too much for my taste. Can't tread water for that long," Crowley adds. "It just seemed easier to follow the beacon, you know? Now, let's make this painless; hand the boy over, and we'll leave you be."

"You keep saying _we_…."

"With good reason."

Four other demons flank Crowley, and between each pair are Michael and Kate, bound and gagged. Kate looks prepared to fall unconscious; her head rolls to the side. One demon shoves her, apparently trying to wake her, but he only pushes her to the ground. She moans.

"Mom!" Adam screams, running past Castiel.

"Adam—"

"Now, now, let the boy talk," Crowley says.

"Let her go," Adam says, his voice shaking. Castiel sees that his hand is wrapped around a gun he has in his bag, which he thankfully never removed.

"We can make a trade," Crowley offers. "You take her place, hmm?"

"Adam, don't listen to him!" Castiel interrupts. He turns to the demon. "I don't know why you want them, Crowley, but you will not take them."

"Well, it seems I already have half the packaged deal, though he doesn't seem to be in the same condition as when he left hell," adds Crowley. "What, powered down?"

Michael does not even look at him. Crowley shrugs.

"Adam, my boy. Come. It's a simple choice, really. You, or your mother. Hasn't she suffered enough?"

Adam lunges at Crowley, snarling. Castiel grabs his arm and reels him back.

"You cannot remove her from heaven," he says to Crowley. "It can't be done."

"Really? Says who? It's a free for all. Everything much… looser now, since your most recent passing," Crowley says.

"You did this."

"Eh, I'm not above taking partial credit. I own hell and purgatory, and heaven is next, now that you've shown us the alternative route," he replies, smiling slowly. "A king's a king, mate."

"I am not your mate," Castiel growls.

"Right, right, not this time. This is all getting a tad too soapy for me, so I'll be off. Keep the boy. He's useless to you, anyway. But if you want to have a chat about what happened, I have more answers than anyone else, Castiel—"

"Explain."

"Ah! But only when you bring me the boy, and the blade."

"What blade?"

"The blade of Lucifer," Crowley says, his already soft voice lowering to a throaty, almost reverent whisper. His eyes widen slightly. "You have it. How else could you have killed my agent without that blade of Dean's?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel says. "You will receive nothing from me."

His eyes widen slightly.

"You have it," Crowley realizes. "Theories only went so far but how else could you have killed my agent without that blade of Dean's?"

"You mean this one?" Castiel says, pulling out the demon-killing blade from within his coat. "You are on my lands, Crowley. Do not test me. This blade will be in your throat if you don't release them."

"Bargaining with a demon, are we?"

"It's hardly a bargain when I can kill you."

"I didn't come in unarmed, you fool."

Crowley flashes a blade of his own and reflects the sunlight off it. Adam raises a hand against the glare.

"Funny thing is, that boy between us can be killed by anything, since he's not _really_ dead," he says with a chuckle, "so I'd be careful just which steps you take."

Castiel lowers the blade.

"Consider the offer; you've been known to make the right choice in the past—future—whatever," Crowley rambles. He picks Kate up off the ground and brushes some dirt off her.

"Don't touch her," roars Adam. Michael stares at Adam, sheer panic in his eyes. Adam catches his gaze for a moment, but looks away quickly.

"See you around, boys," Crowley grins, flashing his teeth. "You know where to find me, and if I don't get the boy and the blade and everything else in three days, I'll know where to find you, and those won't be all I'll want."

He, the four demons, Kate, and Michael disappear.

"Dean says hello," Crowley whispers into Castiel's ear. He whirls around, coat spinning, but Crowley is nowhere to be seen.

Castiel drops the knife; it lands silently in the grass. Adam, who is already on his knees, picks it up. He holds the blade between his fingers. A line of blood forms on one fingertip but he licks it away and puts the blade down. Castiel is still looking around the yard, still searching. His heart pounds. He can feel the blood rushing in his ears; he can feel the humanity in him claw and tear a corner of his grace up.

_Dean._

"Oi! Cas!" Adam shouts.

"Adam."

"You listening?"

"No."

"Well, listen. We've gotta get them back."

"Why would Crowley want the blade?"

"I dunno man; just give it to him—he's got my mom _and_ Michael! Cas, he'll put Mike on the rack. I know he's a soldier and shit but, damn it, he's not ready for that. He hasn't figured out his boundaries as a human. He'll break."

"And what if he does?"

"He knows things that Crowley probably would wanna know. Secrets about heaven. Stuff he'd wanna know if he wants to take it over," Adam says. "We've gotta get them back. Cas… can he hurt my mom? Like, really hurt her? She's dead."

"He can torture her, but she'll be fixed up again at the end of each day in hell," Castiel murmurs. "Dean already knows that pain."

"Shit. You sure he has Dean?"

"Positive. Didn't you hear him?"

Adam shakes his head. His arms were shaking. Castiel led Adam toward the house, but thought better of it.

"We should leave. Crowley could come back."

"Fine. Fine. Just as long as the next heaven's got hard liquor, I'm down."

Castiel hesitates. The whole world is dead, and he cannot decide where to hide, even if only until Adam has his head back on his shoulders. Dean involuntarily crosses his mind and the image of the righteous man on the rack flashes before his eyes. It is one of the earliest memories he has of Dean Winchester. It is one he does not like to recall, since by the time Castiel reached him, he had climbed right off and dug a knife into the soul beside him.

_These humans will break. Crowley will break them unless we can save them._

"Cas?"

"What will happen if I take this grace?" he asks Adam.

"All of it?" Adam asks. He looks up at Castiel as though he is a madman. His face is pallid and has a fine layer of sweat on it. "I dunno man, but nothing good. Can we just go? We'll talk when I don't feel like puking."

Castiel nods. He wraps Adam's arm around his neck and leans the boy against his shoulder. Castiel's mind settles on the only person he knows he can trust in heaven. He can feel his grace dwindling, but he decides he can refresh when they reach their destination. They are jerked forward, to the side, and then far backward. The ground beneath their feet is hard, like linoleum. The air smells of old pizza boxes and open beer bottles.

"Cas?"

Sam Winchester rises immediately from the desk by the window. He runs forward, taking Adam off of Cas, and deposits him on the nearest bed. He stares at the boy in complete confusion, running his hands through his long hair. Sam looks again at Castiel, speechless. He hugs him without warning. Castiel reciprocates stiffly.

"That was unexpected," he mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says. "Sam. It's good to see you."

"Same," he says, still in disbelief. "How—how the hell are you here? Are you alive? Or—Cas I saw you die. How the hell are you here, and with Adam?"

"Everyone seems to have witnessed my death," he says offhandedly. "Sam, it is a long story, but I believe you have one to tell me as well. Tell me what happened to me, to everything."

* * *

They wait for Adam to properly wake. Castiel decided to let him sleep, for the next few days would not be easy without rest. He and Sam instead sit on a bench outside the motel room, each with a glass of something strong and amber between their hands. They are, for the time, quiet, until Sam puts the drink down and turns to fully face the angel.

"Cas…."

"Sam, please. Just wait for Adam."

"No, I know, but it's not that," Sam says. "I'm just really glad you're okay."

He is smiling. Castiel smiles back, even though it is mostly forced.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asks.

"Fine."

"You… sure? 'Cause you look like crap, Cas."

"I…."

"Cas," Sam says. He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder; Castiel turns to face him as well. "Please. Just… talk to me. Fill me in. Adam already knows what happened to you."

"Yes, my part of the story," Castiel says. "I died. I woke up, on earth. I was weak, and I walked around until I was close to being human. It was as if my grace was leaving me. I came to heaven and found it empty. No angels. Earth is devoid of life, too. It is very strange, and sad."

Sam's jaw tenses, a muscle jumping.

"Crowley did this," he says in a low voice.

"You're certain?"

"This was his way of stopping us from closing hell," Sam says. "It's… convoluted, but it worked, right? I'm dead. Dean's… god knows where. You're here."

"Crowley is still searching for things," Castiel says. He recounts what happened in Kate Milligan's heaven. Sam frowns more deeply. "He said some things, Sam. I didn't understand, but maybe you can help."

"Wait for Adam, Cas. I don't want to tell it twice," he says wearily. "So Crowley has Michael and Kate?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't Michael just smite them and be done with it?"

"He tore out his grace as soon as he emerged on earth," Castiel says. He pulls the bottle of grace out from under his shirt. Sam's eyes widen. "It is his grace, and Lucifer's. They killed him."

Sam's mouth hangs open. Castiel explains how they stole his blade when he came to pull Sam out of hell. He feels mildly uncomfortable, discussing some aspect of his blunder with the man who most suffered from it. Sam does nothing to make him feel worse, though. He simply nods.

"So Lucifer's dead, by Adam's hand," he repeats. Castiel nods. "Bet Crowley didn't see that coming."

"Most likely not."

"Crowley did this, Cas. I…."

He stops as the door opens. Adam steps out rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Morning," he says hoarsely. "Why the fuck did you let me sleep?"

"I thought you'd need it," Castiel says.

"We just lost two fucking hours, Cas! We've gotta go," Adam says, yanking Castiel by the sleeve. Sam clears his throat. "What? Oh."

Adam lets go of Castiel.

"Hey, Adam," Sam says. He smiles. Adam does not.

"Hi."

"Back in the mix?"

"Apparently."

"You want to sit?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Adam eases himself onto a chair Sam had pulled outside for him earlier.

"You dead?" Adam asks. Sam looks down for a moment. He half smiles, half laughs, but it's cold and sad.

"Yeah. I died right after you, Cas," Sam says. Castiel feels his limbs turn to stone.

"What happened?" Castiel asks. His heart pounds. Humanity presses against the back of his brain, little white spots dancing around the corners of his eyes. He looks down at his hands in his lap.

"We were fighting, Cas. All of us. It was a mess in there; we were totally outnumbered."

"I recall."

"And then more demons appeared. You were on one side of the room with Dean and I was near the back. I saw some light by you and I saw—I saw someone appear behind you and stab you right in the back. And then—god, I hate it. Dean. I'd never heard him like that. He caught you. I didn't see a whole lot; Dean was kinda in the way. Then, everything got really bright, and the imprint of your wings was everywhere, especially all over Dean."

Adam makes a face.

"Get your head outta the gutter, kid."

"And then?" Castiel presses.

"Crowley came out of the shadows, like he'd been watching the whole damn thing," Sam says, bitterness creeping in his voice. "He basically called off all the demons, gave a little speech about handling the tablets being in the hands of humanity—a load of cryptic bullshit. He said something to Dean, and you just disappeared. Then, a demon cut my throat. That was it. I've been up here ever since."

Silence settles between the three for a while. Castiel does not know how to respond.

"And?" Adam says.

"What do you mean, and?"

"There's more. There's gotta be more. You've gotta know something we don't."

Sam shifts in his seat.

"Sam. Please. Whatever it is, we must know," Castiel says.

"It's not pretty, Cas."

"Please."

"It was you, Cas. You're the one who popped out of nowhere and stabbed you in the back. That you, the one that just appeared, disappeared as soon as you started dying."

"You're fucking _kidding_ me," spits Adam. "So it was him? The demons were actually _right?_"

"Well, they're in hell, with Crowley. They probably understood some parts of his plan," Castiel murmurs. "It makes sense."

"Cas…."

"No, no. Not because of what happened," he says impatiently. "Crowley made a comment—something about me, past or future, something rather strange. Perhaps that is what he meant."

"What? That you—_that_ you, the one who killed you—was you from some other part of time?" Adam asks. "Crazy, man."

"Not necessarily," Sam says. "Motive's the only thing that doesn't make sense."

"It confuses me as well," Castiel agrees. "He said he wanted Adam, the blade, and some other things he did not specify. Perhaps he meant things that were involved with his dealings with the other version of myself."

"He seemed pretty pissed to see you alive," Adam says. "You coming back probably wasn't part of the plan."

"I assume not."

"So, what, you guys wanted to seal demonkind in hell and he decided to oust humanity as revenge?" Adam asks.

"Looks like it."

"And if it was me who helped him, that would explain the armory being empty, and the missing items from the vault. I must have supplied him with those weapons."

"It wasn't _you_, Cas," Sam says. "Hey. Come on. It wasn't actually you."

"Clearly, it was," he says, standing up. "Excuse me."

"Cas! Stop."

"We're not done talking!" shouts Adam.

"Give me a minute," growls Castiel. He turns on his heel and walks clear across the parking lot until he disappears from the heaven.

"Damn it," Sam says.

"That didn't go so well, smartass."

"You didn't help."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Exactly! Okay. No. That's not the point. Cas'll come back," Sam says. "You heard things in hell?"

"Yeah. Mike and I got out of the cage—"

"How the hell did you do that?" Sam gapes. "Cas said it happened but—what the hell, Adam. Did you make a deal?"

"I didn't have much of a soul left to sell," he snorts. "Kidding! Soul's intact. I tried. Didn't work. Death did stop in once, when he came for your soul; he said he'd come back to chat, but the bastard never showed. Anyway, the walls just poofed one day and, bam, we were free. Ol' Lucifer wanted out, so I knifed him. Mike bottled the grace and we started clawing our way out of hell. It took forever to get to the border with purgatory, but damn it, we got out, one way or another."

Sam does not reply.

"Crowley and Cas. It's happened before, right?"

"Yeah."

"You think it's the Cas from then?"

"No. It wouldn't make sense."

"So you think it's a Cas from the future?"

"It's the only other option."

"But… that makes no sense. Why the hell would he help Crowley destroy humanity?"

"No clue. Cas is humanity's number one fan," Sam says quietly. "Something must've gone really wrong between that day and whatever future he came from."

"I guess," nods Adam. He pauses. "I heard things. I didn't want to tell him, but the demons were talking about Cas breaking into the deepest parts of heaven and stealing everything for Crowley. They said he forced the angels to leave, or he killed them. It all sounded majorly fucked up."

"Tell me about it," says Sam. "Really, though. Go on."

"They said he had some kind of deal with Crowley, and the details were really under wraps," Adam says. "They kept talking about some _thing_ Crowley needed to get from heaven, but he couldn't, which is why he needed Cas's help. It turned into whatever the hell agreement they had in the end."

"The blade," Sam says.

"Yeah. He mentioned a blade—blade of Lucifer. You think that was it?"

"The blade of Lucifer?" repeats Sam. "I knew it was something—I didn't know it was _that_."

"Jesus. What the hell is it?"

"It's Lucifer's blade, Adam."

"I got that, Captain Obvious," he rolls his eyes. "How about some details."

"It's… legendary! Really obscure. Lots of people have talked about it, so it's really hard to say what it actually is, but everyone says Lucifer used his powers as an archangel to enhance it—to make it capable of killing anything, not just angels. It's kinda like the angel equivalent of the Colt."

"That gun I kept hearing about?" Adam asks. "Some demon mentioned it. Crowley wants it melted down or something."

"He would," Sam says. "So, if that's what Crowley wanted, then what was he going to do with it?"

"Kill shit?"

Sam glares at Adam.

"Kill Castiel?"

"Yeah, the one from the past, for some reason. But that can't've been it."

"No. Definitely not."

"Damn it," Sam says. "What else did Crowley want?"

"Me, and some stuff he didn't enumerate, that bastard. I have no fucking clue how he expects us to know if _that_ Cas is long dead."

"There's gotta be a way."

Adam nods, suddenly somewhere far away. He wrings his hands before throwing them aside. Adam stands, eyeing the glass on the ground.

"You got more of that?"

"Take it," Sam says, handing him the glass.

"Thanks."

He takes the glass, downs it, and walks away from Sam.

"Going somewhere?" Sam calls.

"What? No. Just stretching my legs."

"Good."

Tense silence strings between them.

"There's one thing I just don't get," Sam says. Adam only turns around when he says, "Michael. Why'd he go human?"

Adam starts to blush and turns away again.

"Long story," he says, "but it was me, I guess. I got him to see that humanity's not all that bad."

"How? He's—he's _Michael._ He wanted the apocalypse just because God said so."

"Well, he doesn't anymore, since it'd've killed almost everyone," he says a little defensively. "He's not a bad guy, Sam. He was just… lost. Stuck on the only path he knew."

"Let me guess. You held his hand and led him astray?" he asks with a half-smile. Adam's face flushes in earnest now. "I get it. I've been around Dean and Cas forever. I know how that whole falling-for-humanity-in-two-different-ways thing works."

Adam returns to where they were seated.

"And I always thought I was good at hiding my true feelings," he says sarcastically, sitting down again.

"Are you worried?"

"About him?" Sam nods. Adam's face falls. "More than anything, other than my mom. I fucking hate Crowley. I want his head on a plate."

"Don't we all?"

"Yeah, well, maybe Dean'll get him before we have to save his ass."

"Save him? What are you talking about?" Sam says. "Is he—he's not alive, is he?"

"Uh, yeah. He is."

Sam nearly jumps out of his chair.

"Jesus—he's okay?" he yelps. "How the hell did he make it out alive?"

"Mike said Crowley took him to hell, alive, right when all this mixing of the afterlives shit happened, and he just got away. Ran to purgatory. He was hiding out in there, cutting down shit, until Mike showed up. We got separated, and he ended up there when I ended up on earth," adds Adam.

"So Dean… and Michael. They worked together?"

"Yeah, for a while. I know. Weird as fuck. But it happened. They stayed together until they got to the far end of purgatory near some island between there and heaven. Mike said it was the last pure piece of Eden, where the Tree of Knowledge is. I think he told Dean he'd be safe there, if he could get there."

"Michael left him there."

Rage sinks into Sam's face.

"He had to," Adam says, a desperate edge in his voice. "He had his grace _and_ Lucifer's. That shit's strong—it was corrupting him, consuming him. Lucifer—that itty bit left of him—was trying to claw through Michael to the surface. Mike had to get out to earth to take the grace out. It was the only way to survive."

"He still left Dean there alone," fumes Sam. "I can't fucking believe this."

"He was going to be a bigger threat to Dean if he stayed there," Adam insists. "Lucifer, plus Michael's power, in a world of total fucking anarchy—that spells disaster. Dean couldn't have saved himself if he tried."

Sam sits back, crossing his arms. He purses his lips angrily.

"Look. Dean's alive. He was fine when Mike saw him a couple of days ago."

"You trust Michael?"

"Yeah. With my life. He got me out of hell, right?"

Sam shakes his head. "I still can't believe this. Any of this."

"Well don't go marching off like Cas, or I'll just drink all your booze."

Sam smiles involuntarily.

"Cas has been using Mike's and Lucifer's grace to make himself stronger," Adam says. "Cas came back without a lot of his grace, and he had a piece of the blade in his back, so most of what he had leaked out. I'm getting worried."

"You think he wants to take all that grace in?"

"Yeah, especially if it means he can go straight to hell and drag everyone out," Adam says. "I almost want him to, but damn it I know what it'll to do him. It'll destroy Cas, and you'll just have this… shell, filled up to the brim with righteous assholery battling evil."

"We can't let that happen," Sam says.

"Sam… there's no way he'll win against Crowley, or save Mike and my mom, or even Dean, if he doesn't juice up."

"He'll do it, too," Sam says. "He'll do whatever he has to in order to help us."

"Selfless bastard," Adam mumbles. "We can't stop him either."

"We can talk him out of it," Sam says. "We can try. We have to try."

"Yeah. Definitely."

"We can't drag his ass back, though, so can I ask something?"

"Shoot."

"Do you hate us? Dean and me, for not getting you out of the room before Michael came for you," Sam says. "Put aside whatever your feelings are for the guy. I'm serious."

"Hell, yes," Adam says plainly. "I told Cas I hoped we found you two so I could beat the crap out of you for damning me like that. Family's everything, huh? 'Cept I'm not family, not like you and Dean. I get that, Sam. You guys are more than blood. But Cas ain't blood, and I know you guys would go toe to toe with anyone to help him. But me? I'm your _brother_. You couldn't get me out. You couldn't kick the fucking door down in time."

"Adam—we tried—"

"That fucking paid off, didn't it?" he says. "No. No bullshit, Sam. Y'all preached all about family and how it's everything, but I didn't really see that in action. I'm _actually blood_. But that means nothing in the end."

"Family's more than just blood—"

"Oh, I know that. Mike's my family now. Cas—hell, even Cas is like a distant cousin, after all he's done to help me. But you and Dean…. Y'know, I get why you couldn't get me out of hell. The cage isn't a box you want to pry open when you've got Lucifer down there. I'd have never met Mike if it hadn't been for that shit that went down in that room, either. But, damn it, hell's a harsh place, and for ages all I could think about were you and Dean—how you'd find a way to get me out, since we're brothers, and I took a huge hit for the team, and I didn't deserve to rot down there. I got pulled in by force; I got _tricked_ into the apocalypse! And for what? For nothing. So I thought you'd come for me, and when you didn't, all I could think about was about how you forgot me. How you didn't fucking try hard enough. You could have knocked that door down, Sam. Dean could have done it. Michael was coming, damn it, but if he really wanted Dean, he'd have let him in."

"Adam…."

"Goddamn it, Sam, just let me finish; I've had this all up here for hundreds of hell years, and goddamn it I'm gonna say it," Adam snaps. "Mike just needed _someone_, and I was good enough. _He's_ the one who never made me feel like crap. Even though I wasn't exactly what he needed, he made me feel like more than he deserved in the end. I dunno how that happened, how the hell I even got that lucky. Michael's supposed to be this big, bad archangel, the leader of the angels in the fucking apocalypse, and you—you guys were supposed to be the good guys, the ones who didn't say _yes_ just so more people could be saved. But what about me? _Your brother?_ I fucking deserved to be saved. Mike got that better than anyone. Mike—goddamn it, Mike.

"He's going to die down there."

Adam collapses into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. He looks up with tears fresh in his eyes. Sam says nothing, does nothing; he let Adam talk and he lets Adam cry. Some things cannot be expressed with words. Eventually Adam stops, and he looks more angry with himself than anything else. Sam takes his glass and refills it. Adam takes it in sips this time, wincing from time to time.

"I'm sorry, Adam. Saying that doesn't fix anything, but I mean it," Sam says. Adam does not look at him. "You didn't deserve a damn thing, not the ghouls or hell or any of it. It's—it's not our fault things turned out this way, and we did everything we thought we could at the time, but maybe there was more. I don't know. It's… all long gone. It's still important and no one's gonna forget it, but… for now, let's focus on getting Michael and Kate and Dean back."

Adam grunts, drinking deeply from the glass. He empties it and puts the glass down on the ground.

"It's really quiet here."

"Dean's supposed to be here. I thought he was in hell."

"With Crowely? Or…?"

"More like the latter," Sam says. He looks away, ashamed. "He'd hate me for thinking it."

"Well, he's been enough of a dick to warrant at least a couple of years down there," Adam grins. "So, my turn. Can I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Dean and Cas. What was going on there?" Adam asks. Sam laughs.

"Oh, god. You want to actually hear about that?"

"Cas is my friend. He seems too… forlorn to talk about it," Adam says, wrinkling his nose.

"I'll give you a bit, but only if you tell me something else."

"Yeah? What'll that be?"

"Tell me about Michael—no, Mike. The human. The rogue archangel. He's… nothing like what he was supposed to be, and I just want to understand."

"You said you've seen all that falling-for-humanity crap before," Adam says.

"I'm still asking," shrugs Sam, "as your brother. Or friend. Or just the asshole who couldn't help you before but wants to help now."

Adam smiles thinly, but he sits back and lets one arm hang over the side of the chair, the other supporting his head.

"You first."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

For a little while, Castiel considers going back to earth. It seems the most logical option. There, he can be surrounded by the consequences of his actions.

_But they weren't _my _actions,_ he reminds himself. _Yet… they were. Not me, now, but I, somehow, wanted to end humanity. Knowing that… no hell is a great enough punishment for me. _

He finds himself in the vacant portion of heaven where they had first appeared. He wanders slowly toward the vault and the armory. Castiel's head spins, his thoughts bounding between guilt that never really subsided, now reawakened in full, and a burning confusion that makes his insides wring themselves on a spit. Castiel stops at a bench outside the armory just beyond its shadows. The door is still ajar as it had been when he had first returned to heaven upon his rebirth. It is untouched since he—whatever version of him—sold out his brothers and sisters.

Castiel hunches over, his shoulders curved forward. He turns his one hand over in the other. A light breeze runs through his wings. He pulls them in tightly against his body. A shiver presses against the space between his wings and his back. Castiel knows it's no use wondering how he could have come to that decision, especially if he never lived to the day when that decision was made, but there is no apparent way to fix it. The knowledge is out of his hands.

_Such knowledge only belongs to God, and to the prophets if they See it. But if we do not find out, we cannot reverse this. We don't stand a chance against Crowley. _

He sighs.

_Dean would know what to do next. Sam would know. I should go back._

But Castiel still wishes to see Dean, to apologize, to see if he understands any better than he does what had happened. More than anything, Castiel wants to know how and why Dean, of all of them, made it out alive.

So, knowing how silly he is behaving, Castiel begins to pray to Dean Winchester.

"Dean," he says. His voice comes out like a rock cracking. Castiel clears his throat. "Dean. I… know you won't hear me, but I suppose doing this is purely therapeutic. I'm starting to piece together what happened. Everyone seems to know something while I returned to life entirely in the dark. It is frustrating, I'll admit, especially since Crowley gave us a time limit. He wants Adam, and the blade of Lucifer, and some other _things_ that he expects me to know about, but I don't. Dean, I am sorry, for all of this, since it is apparently on my shoulders, even if it is of some other form of me. I have Adam, but he lost his mother and Michael, about whom he cares very deeply; Crowley will destroy them unless I find a way to deal with this, all this, my mess. I found Sam here in heaven, but I don't want to disturb him. I would never remove him from his peace. I care far too much for him."

Castiel stops, his throat tightening suddenly.

"Dean, I need you here, with me. I never quite was able to express it, but my affections for you are more than you can comprehend, more than I was capable of feeling as a full angel. Now, without most of my powers, I feel your absence more intensely than anything, more than any guilt or fear or disappointment with myself. If you were here, perhaps this mess would not seem so impossible to dredge through. But you're not. You are in hell, far away, and it is because of me. Dean, I swear it—I've found you before, and I will find you again. I will pull you out of Crowley's grasp or die trying, as a human or an angel or anything else—it matters not. I will pull you out of hell, for it's probably the only thing I can still do right and with confidence."

But even there, Castiel is uncertain.

_Cas?_

He looks up from the ground. The area around him is vacant.

_Cas. I… don't think you can hear me. I'm in hell. All that running was for fucking nothing. Crowley got me, like he got everyone else, the rat bastard. But I _can_ dream down here. If you can_ _hear me, come hear me out. Hell, maybe I can help. I dunno what you're doing, wherever you are, if you're out there—Crowley said you're alive. He said he saw you, so I figured, why not give this a shot? Anyway, Cas, get your feathery ass down here, in my head, or however the hell you can, 'cuz I just got this really crazy feeling that I can help. _

The air around Castiel's head becomes still. The buzz of Dean's voice starts to fade, but connection is still there. Castiel holds his breath, waiting. It is almost painful.

_Damn it, Cas. I just… I want to see you. Hear your voice. I gotta know you're okay and see it for myself. If you can do that, hell won't be so damn bad._

The connection cuts out as though a knife had severed the line.

Castiel stands. He feels clouds gather around the edges of his vision as he walks into the armory. Inside, the place is clean but for the dust. His footprints from his last visit are still there, though a sizeable layer of dust has started to fill them. Castiel looks carefully at the shadows, ensuring that there is nothing there that could help him. He has no luck. He leaves the armory and moves on to the vault, the entrance to which is through a mausoleum-like building in the garden behind the armory. There is a massive golden padlock on the gates before the door to the vault. Castiel touches it. The lock shakes, and then clatters on the ground. It recognizes him far too quickly, which can only mean that he—some form of him—gained access to the vault not too long ago.

The door to the stairs is open. There is a podium with an ancient book between the two doors. The bookmark hangs over the edge. Castiel opens up to the marked page and, to his surprise, it is opened to neither the blade of Lucifer nor the amulet nor anything else Castiel has seen in recent years. It is a page describing a small brown book in which "the deepest secrets of Creation, and the time prior, reside. There are additions made by the Archangel Lucifer upon learning information from the human Eve upon her consumption of a fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, in addition to directions to the Tree as well as how to destroy it," Castiel reads softly. "Other secrets of this book were used to create what is known as the Blade of Lucifer, which it is said was used by the fallen archangel in a battle rumored to have taken place following the fall of man, between Lucifer and Michael alone. Michael, it is said, recovered the blade upon victory."

Castiel leaves the bookmark on that page and flips through until he finds the entry about the Blade of Lucifer. It is described as a fearsome weapon, enhanced by powers not meant to be harnessed by angel, man, monster—anything other than God and Death. It allegedly has the powers of God _and_ Death, though moreover of the latter. According to the passage, it is capable of killing any form of Creation, natural or deviant. It mentions various rumors, including the ability to open up the time continuum and enter the past with the guarantee of not impacting the future. Castiel is particularly suspicious of this part of the entry, but he has no reason to argue with it.

He wants to read more, so Castiel takes the book with him when he descends into the vault. It is dimly lit and there is an abundance of rather unangelic dirt and grime, but Castiel assumes that no one bothered to maintain an untouchable location in heaven. At the bottom of the narrow stairs, the passage opens up into a long, wide hall. There are curious objects everywhere, most of which Castiel does not recognize. He came to the vaults once before, when he was quite young, but it was merely for the sake of education. Most angels, especially common soldiers, had no reason to go exploring and sifting through heaven's most prized and dangerous possessions.

By a bust with a curiously empty neck Castiel finds what he needs: it is a clock—a ring of massive candles surrounding an hourglass suspended in a glass orb. It turns on its own, and with each turn the next twelve hours of time in hell begin. The candles tell the number of years that have passed since the fall of Lucifer. Castiel sits down before the clock. The hourglass is halfway empty, and he assumes that Dean was awake when he prayed to him. Castiel still makes certain he times his plan carefully—to attempt to contact Dean in a dream while he was awake on the rack would only alarm Crowley further, and bring more suffering upon his victims. He calculates how much time passed between the bench and where he is now, and how much time in hell is equivalent to a day, and concludes that the hourglass would reset itself every six minutes in his time. He decides that it is during the day in hell, after midday, and that he has a couple of minutes before the day ends.

Castiel opens the Records of the Vault again and turns carefully through the pages, looking up at the hourglass every few seconds. The tension builds in his arms. His legs start to feel uncomfortable and he changes sitting positions every so often. Two minutes and forty-six seconds pass more like two or three hours, each grain sliding down through the air in the hourglass as through it is stuck in molasses. Finally, the hourglass overturns. He puts the book aside and reaches out for Dean.

It does not take Castiel long to find him. The man is sleeping lightly, and his dreams are restless. He enters them without difficulty. Dean's dream is simple: driving in the Impala. He glances over and almost swerves off the imagined road.

"Damn it, Cas!" he shouts. "Cas. Cas—wait—are you _here?_"

"If by that you mean in your dream, then yes," Castiel says. "Hello, Dean."

"You heard me?"

His face is relaxed, but his eyes—the tension is there, the disbelief, utter emotional confusion. Dean can look right at Cas without risking driving them into a pit; a dream is a dream, after all.

"Yes. I received your prayers," he replies.

"Cas, I—I could've sworn I heard you in my head a day ago," he says, looking back at the road. "It was freaky, man."

"Then you heard my prayers as well. I'm glad," Castiel smiles. Dean says nothing. "You're in hell."

"Yeah. It's shit, but, y'know, taking it one day at a time."

"Dean, I'm sorry any of this ever happened," Cas bursts. "It is my fault."

"Cas, come on, I'm not taking that bullshit now. You're _alive_. How—I don't fucking know, man, you died in my arms," he says. Dean's voice starts to crack; he pauses. "You died, and then Sam died, and then Crowley tried to kill me, but he couldn't do it. Son of a bitch drove a knife right here," he points at his heart, "but I didn't feel a damn thing. I pulled it right out like it was nothing. Hard to say who was more freaked, me or Crowley."

"That is… odd."

"No shit."

"He had you in custody?" asks Castiel.

"Yeah, but I got away. I ended up on the other side of the water, back in purgatory. It's creepishly empty out there, but not totally. I still got to bang a couple of heads."

"And Michael?"

"Ah, yeah. That son of a bitch turned up out of nowhere. He found me somehow, and, well, he wouldn't leave me alone. Couldn't shake him. He ended up being pretty good in a fight."

"He told you about Lucifer, I presume?"

"Yeah. He was pretty fucked up because of it," says Dean.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, he got better, but, god, what a _girl_. One minute, he was fine, then the next he was, like, in tears. Really weird."

The corners of Castiel's mouth pull upward a little.

"You seen Sam?" he asks.

"Yes. He's in heaven, safe. Adam is with him right now," explains Castiel. "I promise you, Sam will be there. I will not allow him to help me as I try to mend this mess."

"It's not _your _problem, Cas—I mean, if you can fix it, fix it, damn it, 'cuz the rack's getting old, but it's not your fault."

"Dean… it was. Didn't you—didn't you see?"

"See what?"

"Who killed me."

"Not really—the guy was right behind you, and he was gone in seconds," Dean says. "I wish I could've ganked the bastard before he ran off for what he did."

"It was me," murmurs Castiel. "It was some form of me, most likely from the future."

Cas explains what he knows, between the rumors from hell of the alliance between Cas and Crowley, the emptied armory—the emptied heaven, really—and the missing pieces from the vault, and Sam's eyewitness account of his death.

"The vault—what's missing?"

"Lucifer's blade, and a book—it has powerful magic in it, the kind used in Creation. It is not meant for anyone's use. It must be what Crowley wants," he explains, "but there's no way for me to know where to find it. Dean, please—is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Cas… Mike told you we got to the island with the Tree, right? That last chunk of Eden?" Dean says. An urgent edge lines his voice now. "That's where you can find out. It's the Tree of Knowledge, right? So maybe if you go there, you'll find your answers."

"How?"

"I don't know! Eat the fruit!"

"That's—no. Dean, have you even picked up a bible?" Cas snaps. "That's not permitted, for anyone."

"But that's how you've got this humanity thing, right? And God—if He didn't want it to happen, He wouldn't have let it happen, and He totally knew it'd happen since that's kinda what He does."

"That is no reason for me to go there. It is the holiest of places. I am not worthy of that, not now, not after all I've done."

"This is nothing! Cas, if it's you from the future who did this shit, it's not _you_ now!"

"Dean, I meant _everything_. That weight is not off my shoulders, and it won't ever be, since some part of me clearly plotted with Crowley, again, against you, against humanity—"

"That makes no fucking sense, Cas. You—you love us. You love humans more than humans love humans."

"But it happened."

"Maybe. I dunno. Cas—that place is your only hope of learning the stuff that future-you knew," Dean says. "Go there. Watch out for Crowley, especially if he wants to get there, too."

"Does he?"

"Maybe, I dunno, but—damn it."

"What?"

"Morning."

"Dean—please—don't go, not yet," Cas says. He involuntarily reaches toward Dean; his hand rests lightly on Dean's on the steering wheel. Dean twitches beneath him, but he relaxes into Castiel's grip, releasing the wheel with that hand. He squeezes Castiel's hand back. "I will find you. I will save you—all of you."

"Cas… be careful. You can't save everyone."

"Then I will die trying," he vows. "Are Michael and Kate Milligan there?"

"Not with me. Crowley wouldn't be stupid enough to let them near me," snorts Dean. "I'm all alone with Crowley's best men, poking and prodding—it's a fucking party."

"Dean."

"Alright, alright, sorry. Go to the Tree. You've gotta find two things: the Gardener and Your Fruit."

"What do you—?"

"Trust him, okay? He's a good guy.

"Dean! I don't understand. Did _you _go there?"

"Cas, I can't—I've gotta go—"

He leans across and pecks Cas on the cheek. Castiel turns into him and meets his lips. For a moment, Cas is the one kissing Dean, with Dean half-responding, half-fading into the waking hours. Dean pushes in for one strong last moment before everything—the car, the road, Dean's hand in his—disappear with a jolt.

Castiel is on the floor of the vault, hips lips still parted ever so slightly. He licks them and sighs. The flagstones are hard and cold compared to the upholstery of the Impala. The warmth fades from the palm of the hand that held Dean's. His chest suddenly weakens and heaves, a very strange, very human sound hanging in his throat. His nails scrape across the floor until all the tension in Castiel's body abruptly disappears, leaving a limp, broken excuse of an angel alone in the depths of heaven. His resolve to mend the world is there, yes, but Castiel cannot help but feel the so human exhaustion and automatic discouragement setting in.

He stands, eventually, and realizes that he has left Sam and Adam for far too long. He leaves the vaults, taking the relevant pages of the record book with him. Castiel has not felt so physically weak since his time wandering on earth. He pops out and back into Sam's heaven. He does not stay conscious long enough to feel his impact with the ground.

* * *

They are quietly sitting at the table in the motel room when Castiel wakes. He sees his coat thrown carelessly on the other bed, and the blue t-shirt he had been wearing. There is a distinct dark spot in the middle of the shirt. Castiel sits up and shivers.

"Why am I half-naked?" he asks groggily.

"Cas—hey, take it easy. You okay?" Sam says, rushing across the room. He sits down next to Castiel and puts a hand on his shoulder to support him.

"I feel weak."

"Yeah, you just about appeared and passed out," Sam says. "You were bleeding from that wound," he says, looking down at Castiel's back. "It's the one that killed you, right?"

"Yes," he says. "What happened?"

"You probably overexerted yourself; the stitches Adam put in were broken."

"My grace—"

"Almost totally gone," says Adam, shutting the bathroom door. "You've got, like point-five percent left, Cas."

"That's not going to be enough. Where is the bottle?" he asks, looking around. The glowing bottle is on the nightstand. Castiel reaches for it, but his back seems to split open. He collapses against Sam instead.

"Whoa, just—take it easy for a second," Sam says, propping Castiel up properly. "What did you do?"

Castiel, once he catches his breath, explains what transpired when he left. The half-brothers listen intently, neither one's expression changing all that much. When he tells them about his meeting with Dean, Sam stiffens.

"He's definitely in hell?"

"Yes."

"He should think about getting a timeshare or something," Adam mutters. Sam glares at him.

"They're all there, Adam—Michael and your mother as well. They're not with Dean, but he believes they are not far," Castiel says. Adam's jaw tenses.

"So what's the plan?"

"We've got Crowley on our ass, demanding all those things, and we've got three people in hell in Crowley's grip," Sam says, counting on his fingers. "We have Lucifer's blade, and Adam, but we don't have that book that he wants, but you—future-you—definitely had."

"This is fucking pointless," says Adam. He balls up his fists and stands to pace. "We're missing that big chunk of information—the shit that future-Cas did. Crowley's assuming we know, for some goddamn reason."

"Dean mentioned a way to find out," Castiel says. He explains what Dean told him about the Tree. "Did Michael mention physically going to the island, Adam?"

He shakes his head.

"Mike didn't say a whole lot about the end of when he was in purgatory," Adam replies. "Probably the whole thing about having Satan's grace pressed up against your ass made him want to forget it all."

"Dean made it seem like they got there—at least, he did," Castiel says. "Perhaps that is what we need to do as well."

"What about Crowley? Hell, if he finds a way to that place—it'd be chaos," Sam says. "If that's what he wants, we can't just lead him to it."

"Well, we _don't_ know what he wants now. He already roasted the population."

"I will take the grace, and I will go. With that much power, I can protect myself. I can hide myself from any of Crowley's eyes," Castiel states. He starts to slide off the bed, reaching for the coat, but Sam yanks him back. Castiel falls onto the bed itself. Sam and Adam glare down at him.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Cas," Adam says flatly. "If Mike couldn't handle Lucifer's grace, you sure as hell won't be able to do it."

"It's the only way—"

"We're gonna figure something else out, then," Sam says. He pauses. "Cas, you're alive, and you're _you_. That's a goddamn miracle, considering this shitty situation."

"Yeah. So don't throw that away."

"That is not what I am doing."

"It's a risk we're not taking," Sam declares. "We're gonna figure something else out."

"Sit your ass down, Cas, and sleep, for fuck's sake. You're gonna die if you don't."

Castiel sits up.

"I am not tired. I'm an angel."

"Not for long," says Adam. "Turn around. I wanna see how the new stitches are holding up."

He turns gingerly, curling his fingers into the blanket. Adam's fingers are cold on Castiel's skin. Tender spots bloom with pain when Adam touches them. Sam gives him a reassuring look, but Castiel simply looks away.

"This is embarrassing," he says quietly. "Pain."

"It's human, Cas."

"I am not human. Not yet."

"But you wanted to be, right?" Sam says. Castiel looks up at him sharply. "Dean didn't have to tell me for me to know, Cas. Why?"

"Too many reasons," he sighs, "but now… I cannot want it, not now. Now I must be an angel, and I am the furthest thing from one."

"Just can't get it right," mutters Adam. Sam glares at him. "What? Whatever. Cas, you're doing fine so far, but you definitely don't have much juice left in you, so be careful. There's something in there, and it just… it feels really weak and brittle."

"My wings," Castiel says, realizing where Adam has placed his hands. "I can hardly feel them. This is… not what I expected."

"What do you—?"

"This isn't my grace leaving me," he interrupts. "This is it dying. The damage done by the blade was worse than I thought."

"What'll happen if it dies?"

"I'll die, soon. I most likely will be human for a short while, but a virtual invalid, then a vegetable, and then—dead. Simple enough. It only makes sense, since the blade kills all. Why should I be an exception?"

Sam's face softens.

"Just… slow down. We'll figure something out, Cas."

Castiel says nothing. The reality is still sinking in. He does not see Adam, but he knows that the boy understands the situation a little better than Sam. He has been around dying angels far too often lately. Castiel lies down on his side, careful not to rake the wound with the surface of the bed.

"I must rest," he says.

"You got it."

Sam rises, then Adam. He hears them cross the room and pull chairs out at the table. They whisper and, if Castiel wanted, he probably still could listen in, but he knows they are trying to _figure things out_ and come up with an alternative, a way to save everyone.

_You can't save everyone_.

Castiel presses his face into the pillow and breathes in the cotton. His mind is made up. _He _can save everyone—so long as he, Castiel, does not count.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Darkness descends on the room. Sam gets into the other bed and falls asleep, even if only for an hour. Adam is nodding off on the table, half-slumped over the edge. Castiel rises from the bed only when he is certain they are both asleep. He dresses silently, puts the burning amulet around his neck, and takes the bottle of grace. He adjusts the coat in the mirror before leaving the motel and standing in the parking lot in front.

The bottle glows with a certain rhythm. The glass is cold in his hands.

_It doesn't matter if I am doing the best option—it's the _only_ option I have. I can't worry about if it's the right thing anymore—it's the only thing I can do. It's the only way._

Castiel swiftly unscrews the bottle and downs the grace. There is a moment of utter stillness. Then, he rises, swells, expands, exhales—he grows twice his size in every direction, his wings spread the length of heaven and back, sweeping across every treetop and power line on earth. Total darkness surrounds him, and fills him, and pure, pure light flowers in its place, charring the shadows into pressed whiteness. The wound in his back seals up smoothly. Castiel's wings fall into a resting position. He breathes in. The air no longer hurts him; it is not cold, or warm, or unpleasantly scented. It is inconsequential compared to him. He flexes his fingers, and they are again not appendages but extensions of his power—they are weapons. He is, once again, a soldier, a well-honed weapon, with the power of god coursing through his inhuman veins. He is _above it all_.

Castiel exhales and looks around. The parking lot is exactly as it had been. He looks back at the motel room. Sam's form is still on the bed. He takes the time to apologize mentally, but it takes no more than a second. Castiel turns his back. Heaven unfolds in his mind like a map he never had as a simple angel. Now, with the powers of two archangels under his belt, Castiel is far more than he ever imagined he could be.

_I can save you. I can save all of you._

He sees in his mind the point where he must go in order to be as close as possible to the dark sea between heaven and purgatory, where the island of Eden lies in between the distant shores.

There is a sudden pull on the coat at the back of his neck. It startles Castiel and he pops out without thinking, leaving Sam's heaven more abruptly than intended. Sure, he had considered bidding the Winchester a proper farewell, giving him a proper promise of Dean's return to him, but he knew it never would have happened. It was only easier for Castiel to leave as he did—alone.

Only when he starts to walk on the far end of heaven, where he had not been since his early years as an angel, Castiel discovers he did not in fact leave alone.

"Hey! Cas, you load of shit—why the _fuck_ did you do that?"

Castiel turns around to find an enraged Adam with murder in his eyes barreling down the hill toward him. The boy and two massive sand dunes behind Castiel corner him. He almost turns around and keeps walking but Adam roars at him.

"Don't you fucking _dare_, Castiel."

He stops, raising his hands in defeat.

"What is it, Adam?" he asks.

"No, I'm asking the questions," he fumes. "Why did you do that? We were going to figure something out."

"No, you weren't. You were going to try and fail, and I was going to die before our time was up. I did what I had to do," he says coolly. "I am only trying to right this problem."

"I get that, but you could've told us."

"You would have fought me on this."

"True," he says, "but we'd have had a damn good reason. Look, I saw what that stuff did to Michael. I never said it to his face, but I was watching him change. We were going to figure out a way to separate his grace from Lucifer's when we got topside. He told me he never found a way; he would have done it in purgatory if he could've."

"I can manage it," Castiel says. "You need to go back to Sam."

"Oh, hell, no. I'm staying with you."

"Adam…."

"Cut the crap, Cas. Mike's down there. So's my mom. I'd rather die than not try to save them."

Castiel does not know how to respond at first. It is quiet between them but for the sound of the waves on the shore.

"I understand how you feel, Adam. I only wanted you to be safe, at peace."

"I'll never find peace if I can't help you get Mike and my mom back," he says. "You understand, Cas, right?"

Castiel gives him a tiny nod.

"Then you'll let me help you? 'Cuz I can. I helped Mike deal with Lucifer's grace. I—I've clawed right through hell, too. I can be useful."

"Then, come. Can you swim?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good."

"What the hell—?"

Castiel turns away from Adam and starts toward the shore again, weaving between the massive dunes. The sand turns from the usual light color to dark, like volcanic sand, and almost as fine as water itself. The shore is very old indeed. They wade down to the water. Castiel looks out at the turbulent waters; the sky above is almost as dark as the sea, yet there is a point on the horizon that breaks the darkness. It is a small point of light.

"Is that it?" Adam asks. "Way out there?"

"Yes."

"And you want to _swim_?"

"It is the safest way to approach Crowley's territory," Castiel says. "If I simply transport us there, there is a chance the disturbance I would cause would be detected."

"By Crowley? He's a demon! How the hell would he figure that out?"

"If Crowley got the chance to read that book, he will have acquired certain skills that put even me at a disadvantage," Castiel says. "I can get us across quickly. I only wanted to know if you could swim in case anything happened."

"And then, what, I'd have to tread water in the middle there for fucking ever?" Adam says "Jesus. Okay. Fine. We're gonna do this, but don't you dare let go of me. I'm—I'm trusting you here."

Castiel breathes out, a cold smile on his lips.

"Are you certain you can do that?"

"Yeah. Don't fucking doubt it."

Castiel looks away toward the sea. He extends an arm to Adam.

"What am I—?"

Castiel closes the gap and pulls Adam against his side by the waist. Adam hangs on to the angel by the neck, and just in time, for Castiel soars up over the water until heaven is beyond them. Then, he dives, grazing the surface for only a moment before crashing into the icy waves. Adam holds his breath. Castiel chuckles.

"You can breathe, so long as you are with me," Castiel says, his voice clear in Adam's head.

"Oh."

Adam lets the air go and tightens his grip on the angel. The water numbs his limbs as Castiel speeds through, cutting past long tendrils of seaweed and thickets of turbulence. At some point, sea creatures start to appear: massive fish, some the size of whales, and whales the size of cruise liners. Adam gapes openly at them—until they pass through a current and, in a moment of inattentiveness, Adam's grip slips.

"Adam!"

"Cas!" he screams, but the water filling his lungs garbles his words.

Castiel changes directions and dives after Adam, who is sinking far too quickly.

_Humans are not meant to be in these waters._

Another current starts to pull Adam away, south of their destination, toward earth. Adam's head feels heavier than a block of lead, and he sinks even faster than one. He catches glimpses of the tan coat billowing in the water above him. His ears scream and pop under the water's pressure, but he can hardly feel anything beyond his nose. He makes a last attempt to swim up to the surface, but his flailing fails.

Castiel catches his hand as he starts to fall again. Instantly, they shoot up through the water until they are in the air again. Adam sputters onto Castiel's chest as they slow and descend. They hit the ground hard and roll onto the sand. Adam takes in a full mouthful and coughs even harder. Castiel touches his chest and he can breathe again. He sits up, gasping at the air.

"Thanks," he says.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Yeah. Sorry, I got distracted, lost my grip," he stammers. "Really stupid."

"That current would have pulled you right back to earth, and Crowley would have found you," Castiel says with a concerned frown, "though you most likely would have drowned first."

"What a consolation."

"It is, compared to what he would do to you."

"Great. Are we here? On that Eden bit?" Adam asks. He stands slowly and wipes the sand off his pants. The air is warm and humid. Dense forest lies behind them, most of the trees nearest them tropical, though he can clearly see pines and other deciduous trees further up the slope. One tree obviously towers over the rest. "That's it, right? The glowing one?"

"Yes," Castiel says, staring up in awe. "This is a mythical place."

"Well, take a minute, drink it in, if you've gotta."

"I think we've had enough liquids for today, Adam. Come. Time is short."

Castiel trudges through the sand, emerging at the foot of the forest. He disappears in the trees before Adam can even ascend a couple of feet. He groans and starts moving faster.

* * *

The air becomes thicker and hazier the further up the island they hike. Castiel does not tire, though. Human limitations are not a problem for him now. So far, he feels fine. He does not feel any different than before, other than perhaps a little more detached from things, a little more like a humming engine than a hand-held tool.

"Hey! Cas—slow down. You don't get tired but, shit, I'm out of shape," gasps Adam, running uphill to catch up to Castiel.

"My apologies."

"What are we looking for here again?"

"The Tree."

"Yeah, I got that, but what else? You said something about a guy."

"A Gardener, Dean said. I am… not sure what he meant. I know of Joshua, who was the gardener of heaven's garden, but it seems that all the angels are gone. Dean met Joshua once as well, so I believe he would have named him if that was whom we are supposed to find."

"Right. You're sure the angels are totally gone?"

"Certain."

"Gone, or dead?"

"That, I cannot say. It hardly matters, now. I don't need to worry about their lack of presence draining me."

"I know…. How are you doing?"

"The grace feels good. I have no complaints."

"Yet," Adam says darkly. "Mike didn't start feeling anything wrong until a couple of days into it, and we were wandering hell for plenty of hell-years."

"He withstood it long enough to get out of hell and purgatory. I will be fine," Castiel says, attempting to reassure the boy. Adam is not convinced.

"What's this guy supposed to do for us?"

"Take us to the Fruit."

"The one you're not supposed to eat?"

"Yes, apparently."

"You're literally just going off some crap Dean babbled about in a dream," states Adam. He laughs exasperatedly. "He's been running and now he's being tortured. You don't think he might've gotten a few details wrong? Or worse?"

"Or what?" accuses Castiel.

"Crowley might've broken the guy. That's all I'm saying, that it's a possibility. Don't go smiting me for it."

"Oh, Cassie wouldn't do that," says a voice. Castiel stops short and turns around. There is no one in the immediate area around them, but he knows what he heard—he knows the voice almost better than anyone's.

"Something wrong?" Adam asks. "Are we taking a break?"

"No."

Castiel marches forward. Adam, groaning, follows, dragging his feet up the hill. The wind clips him and knocks him into a tree. He cries out. Castiel stops, but he is distant, still perplexed. Then, Adam hears them. He can hear the whispers, hundreds of voices overlapping, all speaking in a tongue that sounds alien to Adam's ears but his mind somehow unscrambles.

"_He is here,"_ the voices say in a million ways, all breathing sweet relief.

"Cas…?" Adam says, staring ahead. He looks up; Castiel still stands a few feet higher up the hill. "I think you were wrong about the angels."

"Of course he was," says a voice.

"Who said that?" Adam demands.

"Oh, Adam, do you mind if I borrow you? I just need a word with Castiel."

Without warning, a full-bodied presence enters Adam. He is still there, but, for the time, his mouth belongs to the angel who overtook him. Castiel turns around, eyes wide.

"Balthazar," he says, almost not daring to believe his eyes. "How—what did you do to Adam?"

"I'm only borrowing him," Balthazar shrugs. "It's entirely temporary. No need to worry. It's easier to speak with you this way."

"How are you here?" he asks, descending toward his friend.

"This? This is where we rest, Castiel."

"We?"

"Angels. We _have_ a final place, too, and it is this little slice of Eden, a piece of heaven on earth forever preserved," he grins. "I believe it was once attached to heaven itself, to the garden at mission control, but everything went topsy-turvy a little while ago, and now we're out here, all alone. It's rather boring without the humans to pester."

"Balthazar, I am sorry," Castiel's voice breaks. "I never wanted you dead, never at my hand."

"Sure, sure; Cassie, it's all behind us. We're all dead now."

"I'm not."

"Yes, I know, but that little bit of you left in there won't last much longer, my friend," he says sadly. "Michael and Lucifer's grace will eventually kill it, or it'll slowly perish, and then you'll be a time bomb."

"How do you know all this?"

"Walk with me," Balthazar says, waving up the hill. "We're close to the tower, anyway."

"Are the others here? All of them?" Castiel asks.

"Yes. They're all here," he nods. "It's all a grand party, but since this whole Change, it's gotten rather dull. The whole heaven-is-your-own thing even applies to us, Cassie, but here, there's no personal space. It's rather cramped."

"I have… so many questions."

"Then you've come to the right place," he replies with a sly smile.

"You mean the Tree?"

"Yes, yes, but its Fruit is still forbidden, Cas," he says. "Have you forgotten so easily?"

"No, no, I only—I was confused—"

"Ah," Balthazar says with a wider smile. "You've spoken to one Dean Winchester. Doubtless you have some questions about him as well, but be patient! We'll get there."

"I don't have time for your games, Balthazar," Castiel says.

"This is no game! I'm escorting you to where you need to be," he says.

"Which is?"

"At the entrance to the tower," he says. "That's where you'll find the man of the hour."

"The Gardener?"

"It _isn't_ Joshua, to quell your confusion from earlier."

"Obviously."

"No need to be short with me. Driving a blade through me was bad enough," Balthazar mumbles. "I'm sorry, was that too low a blow?"

Castiel glares at him. They come over the crest of the hill, revealing a steep dip and a massive tower rising from the ground. Roots like rail tracks and an ivy canopy drape over the sides of the tower, disappearing into the hillsides.

"Is that—?"

"Yup. That's it. The Tree," Balthazar says, looking as awed as Castiel feels. "It never fails to strike the fear of God in me, I'll tell you that."

"Don't fear that which can't hurt you."

"Why can't it?"

"Because it doesn't care anymore."

"Well, doesn't that make it worse? Pain, with apathy, can leave a deeper cut than anything."

Castiel does not reply.

"Alright, enough of this crap. I can't hang around in this kid's body much longer. Go down to those doors down there and go on in. Go right to the center of the tower, and you'll find who you're looking for."

Balthazar's form flickers away, leaving a rather dazed Adam in its place.

"God_damn_it," he curses, almost falling over the edge of the hill. Castiel catches him and holds him steady. "Thanks."

"Of course."

"Balthazar's a friend?"

"He was, a very good one, until I killed him."

Adam does not ask further questions. Castiel takes them straight to the door. They enter the tower. Once inside, the whispering in Adam's ears intensifies. He curses under his breath as they walk further and the voices become louder. He starts seeing flashes of light out of the corner of his eye, but nothing there when he turns to look for the source. His frustration mounts until he stops fully and almost screams for a fucking explanation, but does not.

"Cas?" he calls out. "Cas, they won't fucking shut up. It's so bad I can't even tell wha—Cas? Where the hell did you go?"

Adam spins around on the spot in the empty hall. Castiel is nowhere to be seen. The darkness presses in like the sides of a sinking ship. Panic rises up in his throat; Adam chokes it down and makes for the nearest door at the four-way intersection where he stands. The door slams shut, further darkening the hall, followed by the next door on the right, and then the next. Last are the double doors to the left of where Adam stands. He hurls himself at it, catching his hands between the doors jut before they shut. He cries out in triumph and uses all his might to pry the doors open just far enough for him to slide his shoulder through.

The doors break open and Adam is thrown back into the intersection of the halls. All the candles around him are blown out by the gust of air. A figure appears in the open doorway, tall and thin, with a tailored suit and clearly hollowed cheeks visible even against the light behind him.

Adam recognizes him.

"You—"

"I'll return for you, but Castiel and I need to have a one-on-one first. Hang tight. Have some chips," he says, throwing a bag of kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips at him. The bag slides across the black marble floors right up to his foot. "Enjoy."

Death draws the doors closed, ignoring Adam's shouts, sealing the human in the darkness at the center of the tower. He listens to Death's shoes click down the hallway on the other side of the door. Adam throws himself against the doors over and over, screaming Castiel's name, but it is to no avail. He slides down to the ground, blinking back angry tears.

"Goddamn it, Mike. I could really use your help," he says to no one. Adam picks up the bag of chips and rips it open. He is glad for the food, at least, and for the fact that the angels finally shut up.

* * *

"Adam?" Castiel calls. "Adam!"

"He is safe, Castiel," says Death, emerging from a hall to Castiel's right. The angel's eyes widen. "Don't worry. I gave him some chips. We'll be done by the time he finishes the bag."

"What are we doing? What are _you_ doing here?"

"Did you not come to speak to me?"

"Are you the Gardener?"

"I suppose you can call me that though someone else might fit the title better. You see, in this mess you caused, I lost my ring," he says, waving each long finger before his face, "so I had to flee, to protect myself. Crowley took my scythe, threatened to reap me if I didn't get out of his way."

"But… why?"

"I don't know. You might."

"I know _nothing_. That's why I'm here. Please. Help me."

"You want to know what happened to you to make you betray humanity like that?" Death asks. "I do not think you will like what you'll see."

Castiel hesitates.

"Be careful what you desire, Castiel."

He feels something sink within him. A sad smile emerges on his lips.

"Is that it, then? Was that my undoing?" Castiel asks.

"Come, and you will see," Death says. They start to walk. A staircase opens up after a few turns down narrow hallways. They ascend. "Do you know what this place is? The Tree is evident, yes, and its Fruit are still precious and rather taboo around here, but in this tower… there is knowledge you _can_ access, if you wish. These are the secrets taken to the grave, by humans, angels, demons, monsters—these are things that remained between the being and God until death. If that being makes it here, and this place is designed so that it is near impossible unless you are an angel, you may have the opportunity to access it, to see your alternative time lines, your alternative deaths. It is curious, don't you think?"

"I don't understand why the angels come here when they die."

"Isn't it obvious?" Death drawls. "An angel's grace returns to the place from which it came, and it is God's purest creation, as many of you believe. So, why wouldn't it come to the only piece of pure Creation left over?"

"The grace becomes part of the Tree?"

"Yes, and no. It becomes part of paradise," Death explains. "It is your rest."

"How do you know these things?"

"God and I go a ways back," Death says with a skewed smile. "We might not be friends, but when we were the only things that existed, it was impossible not to keep tabs on one another. I am still destined to reap God, once His time comes, but I cannot do that as I am."

"But Crowley can," realizes Castiel.

"Yes. Good. You're not as brainwashed as the rest of your lot," Death says. "He needs the Creation Records if he wants to do that, though. That is the book you are searching for, Castiel. It is where I recorded many things about the early Creation universe, about myself and God, and God even put in a few words about myself."

"But… where is it?" Castiel asks.

"That is for you to learn, if you wish," Death says. They stop climbing the stairs. A door opens to reveal a dusty corridor with many doors. "I don't know, Castiel. I can't answer your questions. You have the choice, if you want to find out."

"I do. I must," he says firmly.

"If you insist," Death says with a thin shrug. "But before you do this, there are two more things I should communicate with you. One—Dean Winchester was here, and when he came, he sought information as well. Though he was not dead, he still found his room, and he still learned the secrets that troubled him at the time, and it made all the difference. But he learned that there's another source of knowledge here, and it has its consequences."

"The Fruit," says Castiel, the color leaving his already pallid face. "Did he—?"

"No," Death says, "but he said he would, and that he intended to return."

"And those consequences?"

"I cannot say. I'm only here because the place was empty and needed a caretaker, and I was out of a job and looking for refuge," shrugs Death. "That is information most likely in the Creation Records."

Castiel nods. He understands the weight upon finding the lost book.

"I will let you in, but you must promise me something."

"I don't have to promise you anything," Castiel replies coldly.

"No, I think you do. You will return my ring to me, and my scythe. You are the one who stole them, after all. I do remember that," Death says, looking at the angel pointedly. Castiel does not cow under his gaze. "You see, I made Adam Milligan a promise, that I would return to the cage to discuss a deal of sorts for his escape, since his existence there was unnecessary. I never was able to do so since the moment I had the opportunity, you robbed me of the tools of my livelihood."

"But the boy is out and alive…."

"Yes, which means God wanted him out of there regardless of if I was the one to release him. Perhaps Lucifer and Michael would have remained had things gone according to plan, perhaps not. I only ask that you return what you stole from me."

"Why?" he asks suspiciously.

"So that I can reap Crowley and put an end to his nonsense."

"Are you striking a deal with me, now?" Castiel asks incredulously. "I have the power of two archangels. If I face Crowley, I can destroy him."

"Perhaps, but I can make sure he never returns," Death says. "If this timeline ends up changing—say, if you are able to reverse all of this, if I am without my tools in that case, I cannot save Adam, and Lucifer will live, and the Winchesters will die no matter what. Besides, Castiel, I do not think you will remain in full control of yourself for much longer. That much power has not done you good in the past, or have you forgotten your stint as a god so easily?"

Castiel turns away from Death.

"Thank you for your help. Now, go."

"No problem," he says. A bag of chips opens. "It's time I have a chat with the Milligan boy anyway. I hope you learn what you need."

Castiel waits until Death's footsteps fade away. His hand hovers over the door, as though he is uncertain, even though there is no doubt in his humming body. Castiel throws the door and walks in. He stares at his arms.

_That was… not my intention._

The door closes behind him. Then, the room goes dark, and Castiel feels his physical body fall away from him. Colors seep into place and the memories he never experienced start to play like a movie he never wanted to watch.

****Author's note: I'm going away 'til the weekend, so I figured I'd post another chapter today to make up for it, as I won't have my laptop. Enjoy, and Happy New Year. **


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The first thing Castiel sees is something he _does_ remember: returning from his chat with Dean the night before his death. The Impala slowed and pulled into the parking space in front of their motel room. Dean left the car first and went straight into the room to find it empty. He called Sam, who told him he walked down the road to the gas station to buy some things. Cas watched Dean's face shift from neutral to annoyed to red. He hung up the phone.

"He said he won't be back for a half hour," Dean announced.

"Perhaps he wants help," Castiel said.

"No… he said he wanted to take his time," he said slowly. Dean took his jacket off and crossed the room to where Cas stood. "You want to, uh, continue what we were doing before?"

"Sam—"

"Sam's a smart kid. He's taking his time."

Dean did not wait for a response. He took Cas by the face and kissed him hard, driving them both against the wall. It took him a second, but Cas responded with equal vigor. He ran his hands down Dean's chest, resting them at his waist, pulling him closer by the belt loops. Dean's hands wandered down Cas's back, clawing at the thick trench coat.

"God, just take that damn thing off," he mumbled into Cas's mouth. In an instant the coat was on the ground. "Better."

Dean started working with the tie, loosening it slowly and undoing the top buttons of the shirt. Cas let out a breathless sound when Dean kissed him in the dip at the bottom of his neck between his collarbones. He trailed his lips up his neck. Cas, unable to resist, took them straight to the bed. Dean looked surprised but says nothing to protest. Cas settled between Dean's legs, working Dean's shirt off slowly without taking his mouth away from Dean's. The little sounds Dean made when he pressed and brushed the right places only egged Cas on. He kissed him more ravenously, to which Dean only responded with equal hunger.

"How the hell are you so good at this?" Dean panted in a moment's pause.

"I've been watching humans do this for several millennia, Dean. I can take notes."

"Kinky, and kinda illegal, but whatever."

Dean reached up and threw Castiel's tie aside. He unbuttoned one or two buttons before a short _damn it_; he ripped the shirt clear off him. Castiel gave Dean a look, to which Dean only shrugged and dragged Castiel back on top of him. The kissing became less desperate, less painful and hungry, and more intimate, tender, filling. The touches were gentle and made them shiver in all the right ways in all the right places. They ended up tangled in each other's arms, not doing anything but trying to understand the presence of the other.

"This isn't weird, is it?" Dean asks.

"No. Not at all."

"This ain't some last-night-on-earth thing, right, Cas?"

"Why would it be?"

"I mean, we can snuff it any day," says Dean.

"Then we could have done this ages ago, seeing as we've both died more times than necessary," said Cas. Dean laughed, Cas moving with him.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think that sort of line would work on you," Dean said. He runs his fingers through Cas's soft hair. "I'm serious about this, Cas. Really. I… probably could have done this ages ago, I'd be as dead serious as I am now. This is a long time coming. You get that, right?"

"I do," murmured Cas.

"Then we're gonna make this work. Promise?"

"I did," Cas said, turning in Dean's arms to look him in the eye, "and I will keep it. You're mine now, Dean Winchester."

Dean returned the gaze, only to look away.

"Sammy's gonna flip," he laughed quietly. "But he'll get it."

"He already does. He has approached me about this before," Cas said. Dean's eyes widen.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. He's rather supportive of this arrangement," Cas said, smiling at Dean's confusion. "I hope that doesn't upset you, that Sam and I have discussed this before. I trust him and… there aren't many people to whom I can speak freely."

"No, no, that's fine," he said. His voice sounded hollow, though.

"Then, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Cas frowned. "You can tell me, Dean."

"This just feels too damn good, Cas," he said weakly. "What's the catch?"

"Maybe there isn't one this time."

"Yeah, and God still gives a shit," he snorted. "Sorry."

"It's fine. You're right," Cas said, still frowning. A buzzing started in his head, growing louder by the second. He gasped, clutching his forehead.

"Cas?" he asked, sitting up. Cas rose slowly.

"Something's happening," he said through gritted teeth. He stood, clothed himself quickly, and stepped outside.

The scene changes, the last image being Dean lying on the bed, still shirtless, with his belt undone and the button of his pants wide open, looking both troubled and relaxed. The darkness closes in and when the scene illuminates again, it shows something different all together. It shows the warehouse with Dean, Sam, and Cas surrounded by dead demons, Crowley between them with the demon-killing knife at his throat and an angel blade at his back.

"You're done, Crowley," Sam said. "You can't win now."

"You're damning yourself," he spat. "You can't kill me, not like this. If you do, you'll end up with a different devil to deal with, and at least this devil you know, you know?"

"Shut up," Dean said. "Sam, I'm thinking we need to have a talk with the devil we know, don't we?"

"Looks like it."

"Cas?"

Cas touched Crowley on the shoulder and they appeared in a dark, metal room in the center of a devil's trap. It greatly resembled Bobby's panic room.

"Castiel, please. I have nothing to tell the boys," said Crowley. "Let me go, help me out, and I can help you get what you want."

"I'm not repeating my mistakes," Castiel stated.

"_I'm_ the one who got screwed over!" yelled Crowley. "Yet I'm still the one offering you help!"

"There is nothing I need from you," Castiel said calmly. "The Winchesters will get what they need from you."

"What, the prophet? The tablets?" Crowley said. "I won't tell. I have nothing to tell."

Cas picked up a bottle of holy water and dumped it on Crowley's head. He sizzled silently.

"Nice try, hot wings," Crowley said, mopping up his temporarily disfigured face with a handkerchief, "but I've got a couple of tricks up my sleeve."

"Nothing Dean can't get past."

"Ah, yes, you've seen the man in action," Crowley leered, "and I think I mean that in more ways than one. Oh, you _do_ know what I'm talking about! I was just bluffing, but your face says it all, Castiel. So, you and the Winchester finally got it on? About time, really, the tension was maddening."

Castiel turned away from Crowley, his face an unreadable wall. Crowley started to laugh.

"You, boy, are more like a teenage girl than an angel," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You wear your feelings on your wings, Castiel, whether you like it or not."

"I have no issue with this," he said flatly.

"Whatever you say," said Crowley, pacing within the devil's trap. "Not a bad trap this time."

"Thank you."

"I'd wager I'm not the only one feeling a little cornered and trapped, am I?" Crowley said softly. He walked up behind Castiel, right to the edge of the trap. "I've known a few fallen angels in my day, and they all talked about the limitations of grace when it comes to these simple human interactions and feelings. Am I right? You're feeling a little backed up, like you can't _quite_ get it up as high as you want it to?"

Castiel rounded on Crowley.

"That's fine, it's a very common problem; I'm forgetting the rate right now, but there's treatment, even for an angel," he said seriously. "You can't just rip that grace out. It's gotta be done properly, or else it all goes wrong."

Castiel said nothing.

"Too proud to have a heart-to-heart with a demon, are we?" he said. "Fine. Have it your way. But if you let me live, we can have this talk, no strings attached. There aren't many people—er, creatures—who would understand what I have to say to you."

"I doubt you have anything of worth to say to me that doesn't have to do with the prophet and the tablets."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Car doors slammed outside the room.

"We're done talking," Castiel said. Sam and Dean approached the room. Crowley's eyes did not leave Castiel's face until the angel was well out of view. Once he left Sam and Dean to the interrogation, Castiel sat quietly outside the building, running through the curious conversation with Crowley all over again. Finally, when the screaming and hissing and shouting stopped, Castiel re-entered the room.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"It was mostly done, until the bastard broke out of the trap," Dean nearly shouted. He threw the bottle of holy water down and leaned over the cart of devices. "God_damn_it, we were so close."

"But did you get the information you needed?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, eventually, but who the hell knows if he's lying?" Sam said. He sounded just as irritated as Dean, if not more. "He basically said he's got Kevin in some corner of hell."

"In hell?" repeated Cas.

"Yeah."

"I suppose I could try—"

"Cas, shut it. You're not going down there alone," Dean said vehemently, approaching him. "We'll figure something else out. We'll draw Crowley and Kevin out here. That's how we'll get him back."

"Dean, it's my duty to keep the prophet safe," growled Cas. "I have to try."

"You are! By working with us, helping us! You don't need to go all kamikaze!"

"I don't know what that means, but I will do my best to help you. I think your plan will fail, Dean, but I'll help you. Of course I will. Then, after that, remember that I am still at your disposal."

Cas turned and walked out of the room, ignoring Dean's shouts and Sam's confused questions. Dean ran after Cas eventually but Cas was already gone, flying away to someplace far. He appeared in a frigid cabin in Siberia. Cas did not have to do much to set up the spell for summoning Death. When Death appeared, he seemed perplexed, but, as usual, generally nonplussed.

"Castiel," he said. "Is there a reason you've pulled me away from my duties?"

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you," Cas replied. "Crowley."

"What about our king of hell?"

"He has the prophet and a tablet of the word of God," said Cas. "We need them."

"And how am I supposed to help you?"

"Crowley… he offered me something. He offered me a way to become human without, he said, turning into something like him," said Cas. "I don't understand what he means."

"So you've come to me instead. You think you can trust me more than Crowley?"

"I believe you to be an honorable being," Cas said.

"Last time I saw you, Dean Winchester had me bound to him, and he asked me to kill you. You released me," Death said slowly. "I can repay the favor."

"You will help me?"

"I will explain to you what Crowley meant," said Death, "and then you make what you will of that information."

"But the prophet—"

"—can be pulled out of hell, yes, and I do have the power to do that, but that will not be necessary," said Death. "You and the Winchesters will find a way, I have no doubt. My time traveling to hell will be spent otherwise, but that doesn't concern you."

"Chances are, it does."

"You are a curious creature, Castiel," said Death. "Be careful. Crowley is not a demon to underestimate. He thinks many steps ahead."

"Don't waste my time," Cas said. Death glared at Cas, but the angel did not flinch.

"Crowley means to tempt you with a story of an angel whose grace was torn from him, as punishment for rebelling, and he was damned to humanity," said Death. "The human lived on, but since the grace was not removed in a specific way, something instead of a soul grew in its place. The human became a demon after enough exposure to the corruption on earth. Crowley intends to say this is how he became what he is, and that if you do it in a certain way, you will be spared the inevitable fate of becoming a damned human or demon."

"That's not possible," said Cas. "Angels know that that is not how demons are born."

"Do they? There could be more than one way to twist a soul into a demon, and a lack of a soul in a human body is asking for that sort of thing, don't you think?"

"Is it true what Crowley wants to tell me?" Cas asked impatiently.

"There is some truth to it," Death shrugged. "There is something he wants, though. It is where you would find the way to remove grace from an angel and leave the human intact, among many, many things."

"What does Crowley want to do?"

"I cannot say. Most likely it is something that has to do with stopping the Winchesters from closing the gates of hell," he said. "Be wary of him."

"Understood. Thank you for speaking with me."

"Yes, yes. I have matters to deal with," said Death, "now that my miniscule debt has been repaid."

Death disappeared. Cas stood alone in the cabin for a long time. The phone in his pocket rang several times before he picked it up.

"Dean."

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"Dealing with matters," he said.

"Well, get your ass back to us. We've got to deal with this Crowley situation."

"What makes you think that wasn't what I was doing?"

"Were you?"

"Yes. I'll be there soon."

Cas hung up the phone. He looked around the room again before leaving.

The scene changes again. Cas faces Crowley, who has a knife to the throat of the prophet; Dean and Sam are unconscious on the floor, blood trailing from Sam's mouth. Cas is tense, and the Castiel who watches on almost runs at the unconscious Winchesters.

"Stop this," Cas said, his voice cracking. "What do you want from me?"

"Castiel, it's simple. Get the Creation Records for me. Your pets will live, and I'll leave humanity alone."

"I don't believe you."

"Shocker, there," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, how about this. If you don't get the Creation Records for me, I'll kill moose and squirrel over here, and I'll let loose two angry archangels."

Cas smiled.

"You can't do that, even as king of hell."

"Yes, I know, but it wasn't hard to find these," Crowley said. He pulled out the familiar formation of three of the rings of Horsemen, "nor was it difficult to acquire this," Crowley said as he pulled out the fourth ring, Death's ring, with his other hand. "Death was rather reluctant, but, you know, I am a sneaky bastard."

"You're bluffing."

"Do you really want to test that theory?"

"You wanted Lucifer dead when the apocalypse was on. You wouldn't be in control of hell anymore—"

"That's not what matters, you imbecile! Not anymore!" roared Crowley. "You rotten fools have been trying to destroy me, and if you succeeded I would have been locked downstairs with the rest of my peers for eternity! How long do you think I'd have total control of hell then, hmm? That's not the point anymore! The big picture—the big picture paints a different goal, Castiel, and that's the end of my problems: humans. So don't you worry, Cas; I'll find a way to make sure these monkeys pay for trying to lock my kind up like animals, but if you do this one thing, it might be a little easier for everyone. Have I made myself clear?"

Cas was speechless.

"Do I really need to do this?" Crowley snapped his fingers. A ring of fire appeared around Cas. Anger flared in the angel's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak when Crowley interrupted and said,

"Don't waste my time. So, what'll it be?"

"Crowley…."

"All you have to do is get the book. That's all. Take the spell you want, but you don't have to do any other damned thing. It's a pretty good deal, I would say, and I'd rather we do this the easy way, even though I'd love to sit you down and drive a blade through you a million times over. I like the sound of angels screaming."

"The angels will come for you," creaked Cas. "They'll stop you."

"Will they? Don't they want to win their end of the war? Hell, if it's on the tracks, why stop the train?"

"They don't want humanity dead."

"No, Castiel. That's really just you. You're the only one who followed Daddy's orders and loved humanity more than Him, but that just makes you blind and a dumbass, if you ask me. You've gotta use your brain, use that free will you wanted so badly. Make your choice, or I'll make it for you. I'll start snapping necks. Who should go first? Dean? Sam? Kevin? Perhaps this one—"

Crowley snapped his fingers. Adam Milligan appeared, drenched in blood, his skull exposed at the top of his forehead. The boy looked barely conscious.

"This one's been in the cage for a long time," said Crowley. "He was about to die, for whatever reason. I can send him back down and let him go suffer eternally, or I can just snap his neck here. Why am I telling you this?"

Adam's eye went wide for a moment, freshly conscious, but only for a short time. His head turns sharply and his neck snaps with a sickening crunch of bone on bone. The boy crumples, his glassy eyes ironically turned toward his unconscious brothers.

"One down," Crowley said. "Ready to talk, Castiel? Or should I continue?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'll help you," Cas said. His voice was clear and unwavering. "I will get the Creation Records, but you must release my friends, all of them, first—the prophet included."

"It's all part of the deal," Crowley said with a gleeful smile. "I'll return to collect in a week. Oh, but first—wipe their memories of this. We don't want the Winchesters knowing about this little arrangement. It'd throw a wrench into your little romance, don't you think?"

"_That_ was not part of the deal," fumed Cas, taking a step toward Crowley, but stopping short of the fire.

"Are you really in a position to negotiate?"

Crowley lowered the fire and nodded at Kevin. Cas reluctantly pressed two fingers to the prophet's forehead. Kevin collapsed.

"It's done."

"Good. Now, the others."

"There's no need," Cas stated. Crowley gave him a look, and then looked down at the broken Milligan boy, as if to say _necessity doesn't dictate my logic._

"You were saying?"

Cas stepped over Kevin to Sam and touched his forehead. His wounds healed and he breathed out smoothly. Then, Cas moved on to Dean and did the same. Castiel actually steps forward now into the scene and bends down beside Dean; he places a hand on his shoulder, but he feels nothing there. Castiel's hand drops.

Crowley disappeared. Cas walked over to Adam and crouched beside him. He touched the boy, but the damage was done. His soul was long gone—far too long gone, in fact. Cas frowned and waited several minutes, clearly pondering what move to make next. He settled for waiting for the Winchesters to wake. He made Adam's body disappear, sat down in his place, and curled his lags close to his chest. Castiel, watching attentively, could feel the anger, the hatred, the intense guilt and disappointment—every metaphorical demon he ever wrestled with was climbing up Cas's throat and strangling his brain stem. It was too much for him, and almost is too much for Castiel to watch.

The scene changes before he gets the chance to properly look away. Greenery forms around him as Castiel stands up. The Impala is parked on the road. Castiel stands in the middle of a field—the very field where he woke after his death. He holds a piece of ancient paper in his hand and has a table set up before him littered with various objects and symbols. The Winchesters are nowhere to be found.

Cas started to whisper a string of words. Sweat beaded on his brow. Castiel reads over his shoulder; it is a spell in old Enochian. He understands. He must have given Crowley the book and taken the spell in return. He watches as the glow emanated from his form, growing stronger, filling him out until he was a human-shaped beacon. Cas's words came more quickly and his breath sounded increasingly thin. The physical strain is evident. Cas hangs onto the edge of the table, digging his nails into the hard surface.

The last words came out in a haggard breath. The glow suddenly concentrated on a point in the lower portion of Cas's torso. It rose slowly, following gently up through his chest until it was centered. The light extended outward, filling out his wings. Cas, with shaking hands, picked up a bottle from the middle of the altar and pressed it to his chest. He scooped the grace out; the wings pulled through his body as he removed the bottle from his chest, passing through like floss between teeth. A smile formed on Cas's face when the last of light passed through him and collected in the bottle. He uttered a few more words and screwed the lid of bottle tightly.

Castiel steps up next to himself again, staring at the bottle. He pulls the bottle in which Michael and Lucifer's grace has resided out from his pocket. It is exactly the same, down to the dent on cap.

The scene shifts again, taking longer to settle again. The time jump is larger, he assumes. When it does stop on the next "memory" Castiel knows that Dean and Sam are aware of his human status, and have adjusted accordingly. They are in a bar, taking shots.

"To the end of this mess," Sam said, holding up a shot glass, grinning ear to ear. Dean and Cas raise their glasses as well. They all down their liquor and toss the glasses aside. "God. Can't believe it's over."

"Same," Dean said. "The tablets are safe. Crowley's dead."

"The recap is unnecessary, Dean," Cas said.

"Y'know what? Let's get another round. No, come on, we're celebrating," he said, waving at the bartender.

"Yes, but I'd rather not die of liver disease," Cas muttered.

"What's the fun of it without the thrill of death?" Dean said with a wide grin. Cas rolled his eyes at Dean. The shots arrived; Dean took his up instantly. Cas looked to Sam for help, but he shrugged and drank his as well. Cas holds his drink in his hand. "Oh, just drink it. You're not gonna die from this stuff if I haven't yet."

"You might not be human, Dean," Cas said seriously. Dean stared at him. Cas downed the shot, and Dean smiled more widely yet.

"Good. Good. More?"

Time fast-forwards, and the bar changes into their motel room. The Impala swung into the space in front of the window. The headlights turned off, doors slammed, and the door to the room banged open. Dean was all over Cas, kissing him madly, clawing at his clothes. Cas grabbed Dean by the lapels and pinned him against the wall. He ran his hands under Dean's shirt, placing them well out of view. Dean's face lit with pleasure, his mouth slightly open. Cas pulled Dean's shirt off, leaving him in his t-shirt. He placed his hands at Dean's waist, or lower, and pulled him closer, kissing him again. Dean responded, taking Cas by the face and barreling him onto the bed. He straddled him as Cas leans upward to better take his shirt off. Dean removed his shirt as Cas fumbled with Dean's belt buckle.

"Cas, Cas—you sure about this? Now?" Dean said. Cas sat up, pressing his hand to Dean's crotch while grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and bringing his face close to his. Cas kissed Dean near his ear before saying,

"I've waited several millennia. I think I know when I'm ready for this. Are you?"

"Please," Dean said, though his voice cracks, "I'm more worried about you."

"I learn fast."

"Remember," pants Dean as Cas shifts positions and starts to go down on him, pulling Dean's jeans down. "Remember I made you that promise, ages ago? That I wouldn't let you die a virgin?"

"You didn't exactly keep it," he murmured between kisses. Dean moaned softly.

"Well, uh, now that you're human, I've gotta make—make sure I keep t-that, right? _Fuck_, Cas, how the hell do you know how to do all this?" he gasped. Dean stepped off the bed to kick his jeans aside. Cas went right back down on him, taking his time sucking him off, waiting until Dean was pulling at his hair, digging his nails into his shoulder, desperately leaning into him, before pulling away to answer, his lips just brushing the end of Dean's erection as he spoke,

"Human instincts," he said before taking Dean in all at once, over and over, slowing and quickening, pausing to run his tongue along all the right places.

"Oh—Jesus—sorry I mean—_fuck_, Cas, _fuck_—"

Cas emerged smiling, wiping his mouth. Dean kissed him instantly, digging deep, crushing him onto the bed. He let his hands explore Cas's body in ways he had clearly not done before, judging by Cas's almost comical reactions. Dean seemed to enjoy them.

Needless to say, Castiel is not sure whether to feel more uncomfortable that he is witnessing this or jealous that he never got to experience it himself. He starts to wonder why he is seeing this when, suddenly, everything stopped. Dean peeled himself away from Cas and looked around.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" he said.

No response, but Castiel feels the presence beside him.

"Who's there, you fucking pervert!" Dean shouted.

"An old friend," said Crowley, appearing next to Castiel. "No need to get so testy. Sorry to catch you at such an awkward time, boys."

"Awkward doesn't begin to fucking cover it, Crowley," growled Dean, lunging out of bed. He pulled his pants on hastily before advancing on Crowley, who was chuckling at the sight under his breath. "You were dead. We drove that knife right through you!"

"Yes, well, you didn't anticipate that I had life insurance," Crowley said dismissively. He looked past Dean at Cas, who was still hardly dressed, but glaring intently at the demon nonetheless. Dean's face went lax. He looked back at Cas, then back at Crowley.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Crowley sighed. "It hardly matters."

He disappeared for a moment, only to reappear behind Dean, and, so that only Castiel can see, put a knife to Dean's throat and pulled it across with practiced precision. Dean collapsed, blood pouring onto the hardwood floor, seeping into the spaces between the planks and his fingers. Cas bounded off the bed, horrified sounds fighting each other for his vacant voice in his throat. He fell to his knees and turned Dean over onto his back. His unseeing eyes stared up at him, blood coating his skin from the lips down. Cas looked up at Crowley helplessly.

"Get up, Castiel," said Crowley, watching him down his nose with measured caution. "You had to have known this was coming the moment you went back on your deal."

"I—I didn't—"

"You helped them try and kill me. That was in the fine print of you helping me get what I want," he nearly shouted. Crowley composed himself. "Lucky for me, I had a way of preserving myself. That lovely book, the Creation Records, that you fetched for me a year or so ago? There was a nice little spell in there that allowed me to bind myself to another, so that as long as the other lived, I couldn't die, and you'll never guess who I chose."

Cas grabs the knife off the floor and holds it to his throat.

"I'll do it," he said tremulously. Tears stream down his face.

"No, you won't, since I didn't bind myself to as opposed to your grace, so if even if you stab yourself, so long as your grace is intact, I'll live," Crowley said simply. "Now, why don't you do the next best thing and replace the grace. Come, now, don't you think you can save him?"

Cas stood. He walks over to his coat and pulls the glowing blue bottle out from its depths, all the while not taking his eyes off Dean. Crowely smiled.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll grab the moose and slaughter him like an animal."

Cas's throat visibly constricts.

"I don't understand why this is happening," he whispered.

"Humans are screwed over, Castiel, all of them, especially the ones who deluded themselves into thinking they could be human instead of what they really are—a killing machine. Now, be a good lad and take the grace, or else I'll snap Sammy's neck."

Cas's hand trembled. He unscrewed the bottle slowly, then poured the light down his throat. His body convulsed. A light shone down from above and filled the room. Crowley shielded his eyes until the brightness passed. A dazed Cas, the full angel once more, stood before them. He raced forward to Dean.

A gun fired. Cas stopped short. The bullet hole was massive in the back of Dean's head. Crowley lowered the Colt slowly.

"Sam should be along shortly. Then we can go clean ourselves off," Crowley said.

"I… am not doing anything with you. I will _destroy _you."

"I don't think so, and neither do you," smiled Crowley. "See, that spell bound you to me. It keeps me alive. It also keeps you under my control. You, my friend, have to obey me. I am, in a way, your new god," Crowley concluded coldly.

Sam burst through the door and Crowley buried two bullets in his forehead. Cas fell to his knees, as does Castiel. He feels so sick, so entirely shattered, entirely destroyed by what he has witnessed. He wants the memories to stop. He wants to return to the present. He wants to leave. He wants to be dead, for God's sake.

Crowley pocketed the Colt.

"Stand up. We're leaving," he said. "We have work to do."

Crowley and Cas disappeared, leaving Castiel with the bodies of the Winchesters. Castiel bends down and touches the blood next to Dean's face. His fingers come off clean. Dean dissolves before his eyes, as does Sam and the rest of the room.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Castiel watches flashes of scenes now, hardly remaining in one long enough to hear a line of dialogue. He sees Cas sitting in a chamber, Crowley towering over him with a blade in hand and blood spattered across his butcher's apron. Then he sees Cas listening to Crowley speak, Crowley still holding the blade, and then Cas disappeared. He reappeared in heaven and, in a voice entirely not his own, warned them all to flee, or die. Most did not listen, and when they did not, Cas slaughtered those before him with one blow. He walked across the bed of bodies and into the vault, consulting the record book before descending. He returned to Crowley bearing the blade of Lucifer, which looked to be in much better condition than the way it is now in Castiel's possession.

Again the scene changes to show Crowley handing Cas the Creation Records and giving him some sort of unintelligible order. Cas nodded and left. Crowley left the room, and after a few moments, Cas returned to the room and started reading the book. He stopped at the page with the binding spell that Crowley must have used on Cas. He disappeared again before Crowley returned. The scene remains in this room, but it is clear that time has passed. Crowley explained a plan to Cas in detail, who nodded occasionally.

"Are you listening, Castiel?" yelled Crowley. "After—after all this time, I assumed you'd know what happens when you ignore me."

"There is no need to be so demanding," Cas deadpanned.

Crowley punched the angel hard. Cas reeled, blood dribbling from his mouth to his hands.

"You might not like it, but you don't have a choice. So suck it up!"

Crowley stormed out of the room. Cas stood from the chair and smiled, holding one of Crowley's hairs up to his eyes. The setting again changes to an open field, though not the same one as before. Cas has an altar set up and the Creation Records opened to a spell. He chanted in a mix of old Enochian and Latin. A violently pulsing light rose from the ground and darted through Cas's body three times. After the third, Cas was bent over the table, breathing heavily, but smiling. He cleared it off and disappeared from the field.

Again, the scene changes, this time to Crowley, again, shouting, giving orders.

"I don't have to listen to you anymore," Cas said, coming close to Crowley's bared teeth. "The spell is broken."

"Really now?" said Crowley slowly. "Interesting. I take it you did this after I ordered you to empty heaven out? Was that it, the final straw?"

"It is possible," Cas said.

"Then, if that's done, you won't have an issue with burning the Creation Records, right now. You've taken everything you need from it, right?" Crowley said. "It wouldn't be an issue."

Cas stopped short. The book appeared on the table next to them. Crowley started to smile.

"This'll be a nice little test, won't it?" Crowley said. He stepped back and sat down in a large cushioned chair. "Do it. Now. Burn it to a crisp."

"I _won't_."

"Your allegiance is to me, and me alone," Crowley said. "Now, _do it!"_

Cas swiftly picked the book up and held it out before Crowley. His eyes were wide and fearful as the book caught fire. The ashes collected in his hands as he watched. Crowley was pleased.

"Good."

Cas blew the ashes in Crowley's face.

"Will there be anything else?"

"For now, no. Tomorrow, all the work will pay off."

The scene changes. Crowley leaves Cas alone in a large, tan room. His coat blends in with the wallpaper. Cas's expression paints pure shock.

"You understand what we're doing," Crowley said, poking his head in the door, "I trust?"

"Yes."

"Don't look so shocked. Going back to the beginning of all this to change a few details shouldn't be so strange to you," Crowley stated. "Now get ready. We leave in two hours."

Cas said nothing. He waited for Crowley to leave before checking under his coat for the blade of Lucifer, then for the Creation Records, entirely intact but for the pages that Crowley tore out for his use. He disappears. The setting changes from modern hell to a Victorian-era brothel, full of smoke and sultry women and well-dressed men lounging with their drinks. Cas approached one man in particular, one with a peacock feather stuck in a hat sitting at his side.

"Michael," he said by ways of introduction. The man's face changed instantly. He stood up and walked with Cas out of the brothel into the alley next to it. It was snowing.

"You. You're an angel."

"Yes. I am from far in the future," Cas said. "I must ask you something, since I can't in the present. The blade of Lucifer—is there any way to use it and have it not kill?"

"You mean to dull the blade?" Michael asked curiously. "It is possible, in theory, but I do not know how successful you would be. What is the occasion?"

"I need to fake my death," Cas said, "using this."

He pulled the blade from within his coat. Michael's eyes widened.

"How the devil did you acquire this?" he asked almost angrily. "You—be glad I've been mellowed by these human concoctions."

"I am perplexed as to why you are down here," Cas said, cocking his head slightly. Michael's face turned pink.

"I have curiosity, my brother. Do you not?"

"More than any other angel," Cas muttered. "Listen to me. Michael, I know you are my superior, but you must trust me when I say that the fate of earth will change unless I am successful. Will you help me?"

Michael, one of the angels who helped forge Lucifer's blade in its earliest form, one of the few beings with the power to alter it, nodded. Cas sighed with relief. The sun rose and fell before they appeared in the same spot in the alley outside the brothel. Michael handed Cas the blade, which looked significantly weaker.

"If you stab yourself with this, it will kill you, but not entirely," Michael said. "You will gradually regain strength and your grace will heal itself the longer you are around the grace of other angels. That is all you must do to heal yourself—be in the company of your kind, if only for a little while."

"I understand," nodded Cas. He looked at the end of the blade. "It seems broken."

"Ah, yes. That was my mistake. Be careful with it. If it breaks, especially if it is within you at that point, the effects of the changes I've made will not make much of a difference."

"So if I don't strike at the right angle, I will die. Permanently."

"Yes."

"No one will be able to bring me back."

"No."

"Not even God?"

"I do not know how much favor you hold with our Father, Castiel," laughed Michael, "but I wouldn't expect such a miracle." He sobers up quickly. "Be careful. I wish you luck, brother."

"Thank you."

"And I'll hold onto the book?"

"Yes," Cas said. He handed Michael the Creation Records. He put it in his pocket. "If someone comes for it…. Be wary."

He nodded. "I know its secrets. Go. Your master will be missing you."

Cas disappeared, leaving the disguised archangel in the light snow. Instead of returning to the present, Cas made two stops. He returned to an empty motel room from many years prior and withdraws a brass head on a cord from the wastepaper bin. Then, he appeared in a familiar place: the motel where they stayed the night before they captured Crowley and his nightmares began. Dean was lying on the bed, looking troubled and relaxed, as that current Cas walked outside, holding his head. Cas walked to the bed and touched Dean's forehead. He whispered a spell. A light glow formed around Dean that faded quickly. Cas disappeared yet again, only to reappear in the same tan room. He looked satisfied to the Castiel that watches on.

Crowley returned.

"Just about finished the spell," he announced.

"What spell?"

"I left out that little detail, didn't I? My apologies. I should have been more honest with you, after all you've done for me," Crowley said coldly. "It is the last spell. It took a lot of time and effort to put it together, let me tell you, but it was worth it," he said, his eyes wide and shining. "It will be irreversible as soon as I have the last ingredient."

"Which is?"

"The blood of one of God's own Creations—the blood of an angel."

Cas's eyes went wide. He disappeared from the room, leaving Crowley stunned for a moment. But then he, too, disappeared with a knowing grin.

The room changes tan to gray and large and all too familiar: the warehouse. Dean and Sam are on opposite sides of the end of the warehouse, each taking on more demons than they can handle. Cas appeared directly behind where he in the current battle is. He took the blade of Lucifer and drove it into the middle of his back. He held it in place just long enough to make a decision—he turned the blade ever so slightly and felt the crack of the metal. The grace in his former self exploded before his eyes. The last thing he—both he in the past and he as the killer—saw was Dean's face, his mouth forming the single syllable that neither Cas every got to hear. But the Cas from the future saw one more thing: Crowley appearing with a mildly triumphant smile.

Before he died, in that brief millisecond, Crowley came up beside the fading Cas and said, "You tried to end me before you were aware of the bond I made, so that you could kill me, your god… but that's not how it worked out. I am the Crowley of the now, and I haven't made the bond yet. So that was all in vain, Castiel. You made a valiant effort, but it failed. I'll still win. The spell is," he pauses, taking the blood from the pool forming in Cas's back and scooping it into a bottle, "it's ready now."

"But… how?" Cas breathed.

"I've been planning this since I heard whispers of the angel who wanted humanity. I know because my future self came to me a little while ago and explained what would happen—that you'd kill your former self with the dulled blade of Lucifer, and then you would return, sometime in the future, and I'd end you. It's a pretty neat little loop I've got here. It's your hell—it's that whole afterlife you wanted."

Cas smiled through the blood pooling in his mouth.

"You failed. There is no loop," he sputtered. Cas looked around at the entirely slowed down scene. Dean was mid step, rushing forward to catch Cas, tears already on his face. The glow around Dean is ever so slightly evident. "Somehow, you missed something."

Cas opened his hand. The amulet falls from his hand into the puddle on the ground. He finally disappears, leaving Crowley astounded. Dean catches Cas, his grace painfully ebbing out of him at an agonizingly slow rate, in the last moments before the memories finally come to an end.

* * *

Castiel finds himself lying on the floor of the room in the tower of the island. He stares up at the ceiling. The room is more like a cell with one large window. Castiel stands to look outside; it is total, untouched paradise. Warm air wafts over his face, ruffling his hair. It is totally jarring compared to the chaos he just witnessed. He grips the windowsill for support.

A banging comes at the door. Castiel turns around.

"Cas? You here?" Adam shouts. He keeps banging on the door. Castiel opens the door and leaves the room. Adam throws himself at the angel, wrapping his arms around him. He quickly lets go. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"You okay?" Adam asks, peering at him.

"Not particularly," Castiel admits. "Come. Where is Death?"

"Gone, for now," says Adam. "We talked a bit. He filled in a couple of gaps, and he said I shouldn't go do what you're doing, whatever you were doing."

"I was learning how this came to be," Castiel says softly. "I am still a little confused, but perhaps we can bring this narrative into focus."

"And to an end," says Adam firmly. Castiel nods. "Let's get out of here. Back to the jungle. It's creepy in this place."

They descend and exit the tower. Castiel stops to look up at the great Tree.

"Curious?" Adam asks. Castiel smiles.

"Don't tempt me."

"Oh, funny. You're the one with what's left of Satan in him."

Castiel transports them out of the crater back to the mountainside. They walk for a few minutes before settling in a clearing. Adam does not hear the angels, not even now. He asks Castiel why he even heard them in the first place.

"You're a vessel. Perhaps you've been attuned to our voices after being among archangels for so many years," muses Castiel.

"Mike taught me Enochian," says Adam. Castiel is surprised.

"Why?"

"To pass the time. I got pretty good at it," Adam states a little proudly. "Too bad I can't use it in the real world. Not that there is a _real world_ left. How are we doing on time?"

"Decently. It's midafternoon on the second day."

"That's… decent?"

"Is it not?"

"Do you know how long it took for Mike and I to get out of hell? Months, Cas, in earth time. In hell, it was _years_."

"We will save them, Adam," Castiel says confidently. "Now that we understand the situation, we can save them."

"How?" he asks, sounding more miserable than convinced.

"We need to get the Creation Records," he explains. "I—the version of me who did all this—hid it in the past with Michael."

"_Michael?_" repeats Adam. "You're joking."

"This is no time for jokes. Michael came to earth in the late nineteenth century for whatever reason. I found him, received his help in altering the blade of Lucifer, and hid the Creation Records with him. Crowley does not know this."

"Okay… so you want to use something in the book to reverse this?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell me we're time-travelling now."

"Why not?"

"This isn't—this isn't Doctor Who, Cas! I'm—this is a shitload to take in," Adam says, his eyes wide. "You know what Death told me? He told me what he was going to do before Crowley stopped him. He wanted to make a deal with me: I could get out of the cage if I became one of his reapers. Michael and Lucifer would've stayed down there, and I'd have been pretty close to free."

"Crowley."

"Yeah. The bastard somehow got Death to give up his ring and scythe," says Adam angrily. "So Death never came to save me. Apparently, I stayed down there, rotting forever."

"That doesn't make sense," Castiel frowns. "I saw you, in the room. Crowley had you, and he killed you, to convince me to do what he wanted."

"Fuck, I'm starting to wish we'd killed him instead of Lucifer," Adam mumbles. He shakes his head. "That didn't happen, Cas. I just never got out."

"It was a lie."

"Definitely."

Castiel feels something sink within him. He feels even worse than before, and far angrier.

"What else did Death tell you?" he asks.

"Not much," says Adam, looking down at his shoes. "He kinda said that the flaw in Crowley's plan was Mike and me. He didn't count on us getting out of the cage. Oh! That was it. Death was the one who let us out."

"How?" Castiel asks. "Only God—"

"Apparently he and God have a couple of the same talents," Adam replies. "He let us out, knowing it'd fuck Crowley over."

"I don't understand how your release did that."

"Crowley and Lucifer," Adam says. His eyes darken, the lines on his face deepen. "Did you see anything about their agreement?"

"Crowley, and Lucifer? I saw nothing. He threatened to let Lucifer out of the cage if I didn't agree to help him, and it made very little sense, but that was it."

Something hums within Castiel. The alarm is apparent on his face.

"That's him, right?" Adam asks. "Are you feeling them there already?"

"I—I can't tell."

"That's a yes. Cas, you're running out of time. We're running out of fucking time."

"Yes, I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Will they destroy what's left of me?" Castiel asks. "Will they squelch what little remains of me, of Castiel?"

"No… not until that bit bites it," Adam says. "Don't think about it, man. We're gonna fix everything."

"We will try," he sighs.

"Crowley—he and Lucifer. Cas, this is big," Adam says. "Lucifer wanted out of the cage and his blade back. Crowley wanted a job done. Basically Crowley was gonna go through with this elaborate plan to get rid of you and Sam and Dean and get the Creation Records and the blade, only so he could go back to that moment when you guys caught him. He was gonna do the spell to destroy God's creation of man. That went well, I'd say. And then, he was gonna open up the cage _anyway_, kill Mike and me, and let Lucifer out. They were gonna use that," Adam says, pointing at the amulet around Castiel's neck, "to find God and draw him out using this convoluted plan, and they were gonna kill him."

"Lucifer… kill God?" Castiel repeats. "He—he loved God. That was the whole point, he claimed."

"Yeah, well, centuries in the pit with Michael can change a guy's mind," Adam says darkly. "Trust me. Luci wasn't feeling any paternal fuzzy feelings by the end."

"So what went wrong?"

"I killed him before Crowley could get to him, which he figured out too late. I dunno, man, he was gonna do something to try and get to cage before Mike and I killed Lucifer. But he never got to, since he never got the amulet after Dean tossed it. You got to it before him."

"And then Death opened the cage, and you killed him."

"So we cockblocked the plan to kill God without even knowing it."

"Yes, that is one way of putting it."

Adam grins proudly. "Come on, Cas, don't hold back your enthusiasm."

"But what is his plan now?" Castiel says. "What does he want now?"

Adam's smile falls. "Not sure. Crowley mentioned heaven, and if he's got that book, he can destroy the Tree, and if God's still around I guess he can still kill him, if he can find him. Death didn't say anything else, really, other than to kill Crowley."

"Then that is our plan. I will take us back to the place where I hid the book with Michael, and we will retrieve it. From there…."

"We'll figure it out."

Adam sticks out his arm. Castiel stares at it, confused. He reaches to shake Adam's hand, but Adam grabs him by the forearm. Castiel cautiously reciprocates.

"There you go," he says.

"What does this mean?"

"It's like what knights used to do. It's supposed to show camaraderie between fellow knights," says Adam. "I saw it on TV, okay? Kill me for wanting to use it."

Castiel smiles.

"Then we are fellow knights," he says. "Brothers in arms."

"Brothers," says Adam with a light smile. Castiel releases Adam's arm. The boy looks troubled. Castiel does not even need to ask to prompt an explanation. "Cas… if we reverse this, I end up damned down there, with no one to save me. You won't be able to help me. Death might never get around to making that deal with me—he's Death, for fuck's sake, time's not really a thing for him."

Castiel shifts uncomfortably.

"I'd have never seen my mom again," Adam says, " or even just live again. Be alive. I'd have never gotten to be with Michael—just him, without Lucifer. He's—I love him, Cas. I can't stand the idea of being in hell with him forever without ever being _with_ _him_."

Castiel looks straight at Adam.

"Adam… I am sorry."

"It's not your fault."

His mind is on Dean, only Dean. If they succeed, Castiel knows he could have a life with Dean, as human or an angel or anything—but at the cost of Adam's freedom, Adam's happiness, Adam, who deserves those things more than Castiel feels he ever would. Adam has suffered hell and damnation for too long, while, to Castiel, there is no hell or damnation great enough or long enough for him.

"Let's go. We can lay out our options once we have the book in our hands."

Castiel walks past Adam downhill toward the shore. Adam slowly follows, his hands deep in his pockets. His head hurts almost as badly as his feet. Castiel does not wait for him when he falls behind. Only when Adam reaches the shore does he find Castiel waiting for him, staring out at the space between the island and purgatory.

"Perhaps I should have left you in heaven," he says when Adam comes up to him.

"Don't be stupid. You wouldn't know half this shit if I hadn't been here."

"Adam, you must be careful when we go back. We will not be there for a long time, but we must not alter anything. Everything could change here."

"I got it. I know how this shit works," he says breezily. Castiel nods.

"Are you prepared?"

"Let's quit roasting bacon and go."

He shuts his eyes and waits for the sound of the water drilling into the shore to be silenced.

****Author's note: My apologies for the break between updates! I was away, but now there'll be regular updates to the end, which is near! Enjoy!**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

When Adam opens his eyes, he sees snow falling silently on an empty street. There is a carriage with a sleepy horse parked down near the bend in the street. Adam takes a step and his shoes sink into the thin layer of snow. He almost falls on the ice accumulating between the cobblestones. Castiel catches him by the crook of the elbow and sets him right.

"Don't die," he says seriously. Adam laughs weakly.

"I'll try not to. So, uh, where is he?"

"Inside," Castiel says, nodding at the building to their right. Adam stares.

"There? Is that—is that a brothel?" he asks.

"Yes. I understand your reluctance."

"Reluctance? Jesus—Cas, this is more than fucking reluctance. You want me to walk in there when Michael could be fucking some Victorian whore's brains out?"

"These people are doing what they must do survive here, Adam, even if it is by working in a den of iniquity; don't degrade them," he says. "Michael is not here for that. Look. He is the one with the hat and the peacock feather."

Castiel points at the window.

"Huh. Very Wilde," Adam murmurs. "Do we have a plan?"

"Going in and asking for the book won't work; I left here telling him to be careful and not surrender it to just anyone."

"But he got it from _you_; won't he give it back if he sees you?"

"Possible, but unlikely," Castiel says. "He will be able to sense the change in me."

"The graces?"

"Yes. He will be suspicious."

"Okay. What can I do?" Adam asks. Castiel looks around. A group of young men and women in thin cloaks walk past them into the alley. They all disappear through a door near the back. Adam, catching Castiel's gaze, runs after them. Castiel goes to catch up, but the door shuts in his face. He returns to the front and walks into the brothel. He lingers near the corners, sticking to the shadows, staying as far away from the humans as possible.

He starts to feel entirely unwell. Castiel realizes his hand is on the blade in his coat as he stares at Michael from across the room. He tries to remove it, but his arm will not move. Heart pounding, Castiel forces himself away from the crowd, turning toward the window behind him instead.

_What's happening?_

_It's rather simple, Castiel_, a voice says. _You're dying, and we're taking over._

_Lucifer?_

_Who else but me? _

_And Michael?_

_Somewhere in here, but I've won out for now. It seems he's a little freaked out over two versions of his grace being in the same room. Curious, isn't it? You're dipping your fingers into the wrong pots, Castiel._

_Stop talking._

_Did you just give me an order?_ Lucifer asks. _Maybe I didn't make myself—_

Castiel gasps. Pain cripples him and reduces him to the floor. He kneels in a puddle of spilled beer, clutching his head. The pain spreads and pounds within his chest like a heartbeat or a butcher's cleaver. He feels his skin start to tear on his back.

_No. NO!_

Castiel pushes Lucifer away, feeling the last of his grace throb like an open wound. He blacks out, curled against the wall in the back of the brothel, oblivious to Adam Milligan, who has gotten himself into a rather uncomfortable situation. He prays to Castiel, yes, but the angel is out. He is alone in this now.

* * *

Adam stands surrounded by mostly-naked young men and women, all of them lacing each other into dresses—even the men. One girl stares at him as she runs by, shouting for someone to help her find her corset. Adam swallows dryly. This is not at all what he was expecting, least of all the boy and girl who grab him by each arm, look him over as they drag him aside, and start stripping him down, ignoring his frenzied protests.

"You'll do just fine," the girl says, circling Adam and drinking in his physique. "No doubt about it. John, fetch the black wig, and the hat."

"What the fuck?"

"Calm down, boy," the girl says. "New kids are always nervous. You from the academy?"

"The… what?"

"The acting academy, down by Whitehall," the girl explains. "We've been getting plenty of new recruits from there."

"Uh, yeah. Food's getting pricey. Gotta work extra on the side."

"Well, then, you've come to the right place."

"You got a funny accent," the boy says when he returns. "Where're you from, kid?"

"Uh—"

"Not important. He's one of the actors," says the girl, brushing the boy aside. "Where's the blue dress, Harold?" she screams. One particularly small boy nearly jumps out of his trousers before running into a closet stuffed with dresses. "I know, this probably isn't what you had in mind, but we do what they want."

"The customers?"

"The group that comes in here all the time," the girl says. "They're a little scary, and they hardly do anything with us, but they pay us well. They ask a lot of very odd questions, the whole lot of 'em."

"Is that on guy with the peacock feather one of them?"

"Naw, he's new, but certainly belongs with their crowd," the girl says with a wink. "You want him?"

Adam's face flushes instantly.

"He said he wanted a fresh one. He's all yours."

"Great," he says, feeling sick.

"We've gotta get you dressed, and then you go give the man what he needs," the girl says. The small boy, Harold, returns with a long, dark blue dress and some sort of corset. To Adam, it looked more like a torture device.

"Oh, hell no. You are _not_ getting me into those. I'm out."

"You ain't getting paid if you leave," the girl calls after him. Adam stops short. He thinks of Castiel, of Michael and his mother, even of Dean and Sam.

_Goddamn it, Cas, I'm kicking your ass as soon as we get out of here._

Adam turns around and stands before the mirror. He lets his arms fall to his sides and gives the girl a look of sheer panic, to which she only laughs. The girl wraps the stiff material around his torso. She laces it up and pulls _hard_. Adam gasps and tears away so quickly that he almost hurls himself into the mirror. The girl pulls back on the laces and gets him on his feet again.

"Clumsy, are you? Or just a wee bit sensitive?"

Adam glares at her, but say nothing. He grits his teeth, stands up straight, and sucks in a breath while the girl finishes lacing the corset.

"First time's the worst, especially for the boys," she says. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's fine," he says, though his voice comes out in squeaky bursts. The girl cackles. Within minutes, Adam stands before the full-length mirror. He does not recognize the girl before him, mostly because it's a fucking girl. The wig itches, and the hat tied to his head might be the most ludicrous thing he has ever seen, but he tells himself to suck it up and get the job done.

"Pretty," the girl says as she drags him to the door where a small group of boys and girls wait. "It's a good look for you."

"Thanks," Adam says sourly. He adjusts his dress. _Fuck. I'm in a dress._

"My name is Catherine, by the way, in case you decide to come back for a little more work on the side," the girl says, sticking out her hand. "Catherine Milligan, of Dublin."

Adam stares. The door opens and his group is pushed onto the floor before he can so much as respond to the young woman. He looks back for her, searching for blonde hair and blue eyes, but the crowd jostles him forward. Slowly they all separate, leaving Adam alone in a small space between couples and clouds of heavy smoke. His eyes settle on the man directly across the room, the man watching him while twirling a peacock feather between his fingers. Adam's mouth falls open.

_Damn, that's a good look for him._

Michael stands up and approaches Adam.

"You look a little lost," he says with a small laugh.

"First night," he chokes.

"I understand," Michael nods. "Can we—talk? Privately?"

Adam nods, blinking back surprise. Michael delicately takes Adam by the hand and leads him to the back of the brothel. There, he lets Adam choose a staircase, then a door and an empty room. He closes the door quietly behind him.

"You can remove the corset, if you wish," Michael says. "I can see that it makes you uncomfortable."

"Can I do that?"

"You can do whatever you want," Michael says, flashing a wide, perfect grin. "Though I must admit, the dress is lovely. It brings out your eyes."

"That feather brings out yours," Adam blurts. "Your eyes, I mean. They're nice."

He remembers telling Michael a million times how much he loves his soft green eyes, how they remind him of the grass in the park where he used to play when he was a kid. Adam's heart skips at the thought of never seeing Michael, his Michael, alive again. He removes the dress and struggles to unlace the corset.

"Let me help," Michael says softly. He lets his fingers brush Adam's back, sending shivers right through him. Michael takes his time unlacing the corset, loosening it gently, carefully, and asking every so often if Adam is in pain. Every time he denies it.

_This fucking hurts more than anything, being here, with you, but you not knowing me the way I know you._

When the corset hits the ground, Adam spins around and kisses Michael. The man is surprised, but, after a moment, he starts to kiss back. His motions are irregular and sloppy and nervous. Adam can feel his hands shaking as they settle on his shoulders. Adam forcefully slaps them around his waist and brings his body right up against Michael's. Adam tears the bowtie away from his neck and unbuttons the top of the shirt, stopping at the top of Michael's vest. He kisses his hot skin, starting from the top of his neck by his ear and jaw, making his way down to the middle of Michael's chest.

Michael steps back. For a moment, Adam is afraid he will stop, but he rips his vest off his body, leaving it a pile of shreds on the floor before advancing on Adam and pinning him onto the bed. He kisses him furiously, hungrily, as though he has wandered a desert without water and Adam is his well, and Michael fears he will never drink enough to feel full, so he keeps on drinking. Adam knows this. He feels a pang of sadness at the very thought. He remembers the first time he and Michael kissed, down in hell, just after killing Lucifer. He had the same desperation, the same awkwardness, the same thirst that he did not seem to comprehend beyond wanting to quench it.

"You said—wait," Adam gasps, lifting Michael gently from him. He looks dazed. "You said you wanted to talk. This isn't talking, and I know this isn't want you're really here for."

"I pulled you aside because I felt this strange… familiarity about you. As though we know each other."

"Maybe in another life," Adam mutters.

"Perhaps," Michael says sadly. "Who are you?"

Adam sits up. Michael slides off of him and settles next to Adam, still pressed up against his body. Adam shudders as the warmth continues to radiate from Michael.

"My name is Adam Milligan. I'm the half-brother of Dean and Sam Winchester, the boys meant to bring on the apocalypse in a hundred and forty years or something," Adam says. "I'm here with Castiel."

"Castiel," repeats Michael. He stares at Adam. "You're the other Winchester. You're Seth."

"I guess…? Look, Mike, we need the Creation Records back. I know that other Cas just gave it to you, but we're still dealing with that whole mess, so," Adam says.

"I am not sure," Michael says. "Castiel—the one I met—seemed to have it under control. I was under the impression he was handling his mess."

"Yeah, well, there were factors involved that he didn't know about, like us, and Crowley's spells, and a buttload of other confusing shit that I can't keep track of," Adam says. He breathes hard. Michael reaches for Adam, then pulls back. Adam blinks. "You can do that. I swear. It's nothing new to me."

"I don't understand."

"You and I… spend a lot of time together. I can't tell you more than that," Adam says, smiling painfully. "I can tell you that the Michael I know would help us. We've got a chance to fix things."

_Even if it means I'm broken forever._

Adam leans forward and kisses Michael lightly on the lips.

"You taste very good," Michael mumbles. His face turns red instantly. "I—I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

"Even angels have some humanity in them, if they're around humans long enough," shrugs Adam. "At least, that's what I think."

"I do not know how much truth there is to that statement. Where is Castiel?"

"He's—fuck, where is he?" Adam says, jumping off the bed. "He was outside, but he must've come in. Can you sense him? He's—he's a mess, Mike. He's got your grace, and Lucifer's, and what's left of his own."

"Seeing as I'm not working right now, I'm not going to ask," Michael says. "Yes, I can sense something very peculiar downstairs. It's turbulent, though. There's definitely a struggle taking place."

"Can you do anything about it?" Adam asks. His heart pounds almost audibly.

"I can try. Dress yourself and we'll go."

Adam finds a white nightshirt in a closet down the hall. He pulls it over his head as Michael leads the way back onto the main floor of the brothel. They can hardly see through the haze. They push their way to the far end of the brothel near the door. Only when Adam starts to panic and rotate out of desperation does he see the angel curled up against the wall with blood streaming from his nose collecting on the floor.

"Cas!" he shouts, hurling himself at Castiel. He shakes the angel but it is to no avail. When Adam pulls his hand away from Castiel's back, there is fresh blood there. "Shit. Michael—please—can you heal the wound on his back?"

Michael touches Castiel. He frowns.

"This was done by my brother's blade," he murmurs. "What I've done will not hold for more than a day."

"Thanks," Adam says, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. Castiel stirs. He looks at Adam, half-conscious. Adam cringes when he catches a flash of an expression that was far too much more like Lucifer's than Castiel's.

"Adam Milligan?" Michael says. Adam heaves Castiel onto his shoulders and stands up. Michael holds out the Creation Records. "I trust you'll fix whatever problems are taking place in your time."

"Thanks. Again."

They walk outside. Castiel is awake now and standing on his own. He looks at Michael curiously.

"I am glad you're feeling better, Castiel," Michael says. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Michael," he says. His voice is weak.

"Adam, I hope I'll meet you again, as you said," Michael says. "I enjoyed your company."

Adam gives him a small, sad nod, for he knows what comes next. Michael turns to leave. Castiel reaches forward, touches him on the back of the head. A bright shock runs down Castiel's arm to Michael's head. The archangel stops short. He looks back at them.

"Isn't it rather cold to be standing around in a shirt so thin?" he says to Adam before walking away. Adam breathes out. It hurts his chest.

"Did you have to do that?"

"It was the only way to guarantee our timeline doesn't change drastically."

"That was the last time I'll see him," says Adam. He blinks rapidly and bites into his cheek. "He won't even remember it."

Castiel places a hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam expects them to disappear, but they remain there for a few moments, with Castiel's hand on Adam. He takes it as Castiel attempting to apologize for the situation and the reality of it but Castiel, in reality, is making up his mind, once and for all.

Castiel lightens his grip on Adam and focuses on returning them to the present. When they do return, they return on the shore of the island. Castiel falls to the ground, still insisting he is okay. Adam leads him into the jungle to the nearest clearing. They sit in silence, Adam skimming the Creation Records until the color returns to Castiel's face.

"You sure you'll be able to do this?" Adam says, his eyes fixed on the open book. "This looks like tough stuff, Cas."

"I'll manage," he says gruffly. Castiel holds out his hand; Adam gives him the book. Castiel walks with his back to Adam as he flips through the Creation Records.

"Wasn't that the spell I found? The one Crowley used to destroy all the humans?"

"Yes, but I'm searching for another," Castiel says without turning around. "Wait here."

Castiel disappears.

"Damn it!" Adam shouts. "CAS! Get your ass back here!"

"I didn't go far," Castiel says, looking down curiously at Adam from behind him. Adam twists around and groans. "I needed to test if Crowley's bond to me was still intact."

"How did you do that?"

"Not important. It's not in place," Castiel says. He sits down next to Adam. "Can you trust that I will do everything in my power to save Dean and Michael and your mother and everyone else?"

"Of course."

"Do you trust me enough to let me do what I must without telling you?"

"Really?" Adam says flatly. "I'm not staying in the dark, not now, not after all that. I just got dressed up in a fucking corset and bonnet to get that damn book. You better damn well tell me your plan."

Castiel looks at Adam in a way that makes him frown. The angel looks sad.

"There is only one way, Adam," he says.

"I know. We're gonna reverse this thing," Adam replies.

"No. I'm sorry."

Castiel reaches forward. Adam tries to swat him away, but Castiel is faster. Adam crumples on the ground as soon as Castiel touches him. He scoops the boy up and takes him to the tower. Death waits by the door.

"Take him," he tells Death. "I cannot risk bringing him back to heaven or hell."

"You want me to play babysitter?" Death asks incredulously.

"I trust you won't turn him over to Crowley if he comes here."

"Do you think you can trust Death?" he says with a crooked smile. Castiel is silent. "You are right, Castiel. Your plan _is_ the only way: bind Crowley to you, mend the blade of Lucifer, and destroy yourself. Don't worry; I'll be here, waiting."

Castiel still says nothing.

"Find Dean before you perform the last step," Death advises. "You need will him."

Castiel looks up.

"How?"

"You've pulled him out of hell before. I think you're capable of doing it again," Death says.

"But how will I need him?"

"You hold Lucifer within you, and that is his blade. If he rises up at the right moment, you'll lose control of yourself. You don't want that with the blade in your hand. You need someone else to finish you."

"Dean," he says. Castiel's voice breaks. "That is the last thing I could ask of him."

"Then start thinking of an alternative. Right now," Death pauses, "you have less than a day before Crowley sets his forces on you."

"One day for three spells, and to find one man," murmurs Castiel. Death steps back and closes the doors of the tower, shutting Adam away until the storm passes.

****Author's note: so a NaNoWriMo challenge issued to me was to have Adam dress up in some kind of period clothing dress and have it be important to the plot. strangely, it worked out well. just an explanation in case it seems too crack-like. also, apologies for any historical inconsistencies. i just made things up and used bits i knew about the time. **


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Castiel has it figured out. His plan will work. He is certain. He performed not three but four spells in preparation for his last venture into hell. The first was the most complex: it was the reversal of Crowley's spell that destroyed humanity. Castiel toiled until sweat ran down the side of his neck. Even at the end he was not sure that the spell would work, but he was running out of time, so he moved on. All he needed was to speak the final words with the blood of one of God's own on his hands. He did not use his own.

"_Where is the righteous man?"_

The next spell mended the blade of Lucifer and returned it to its full glory. Here, Castiel struggled the most with the archangels within him. He felt the strain on his body at that time and the lack of his own grace. Michael's grace aided him while Lucifer's constantly fought against him, never tiring, always striking at the navel when he struck the blade and chipped away an imperfection. Eventually, Castiel succeeded without either archangel overriding him. He could not ignore the strange, alien joy within him when he held the lethal, fully powered blade.

"_Tell me!"_

Once the blade was intact, Castiel bound himself to Crowley again. When he died, Crowley's spell ended. He did not perish with Castiel; he only lost his slave and remained alive, albeit furious enough to murder an entire species. This spell, though, did not enslave Crowley. It only bound their lives together so that if one died, so did the other.

"_Take me to him. Now."_

"_Mr. Crowley wants to see you first."_

"_That won't happen."_

The final spell Castiel prepared for and did his best to learn, but it was going to have to wait until Castiel was on the scene. He could not perform the final spell until after getting to Dean and the others in hell, not until everything else was done and settled.

"_Castiel?"_

"_Michael?"_

* * *

Castiel is surrounded by slaughtered demons when he hears Michael's voice. It is hardly more than a whisper and has little more substance than a broken leaf. Castiel turns around. There hangs the former archangel, bleeding and agonizing in all his glory. Half his face is encased in dried blood, and parts of the other half are missing. Chunks of hair hang from his head. One hand dangles over his shoulder at an incomprehensible angle. Castiel removes Michael from the rack and heals him, leaving him winded.

"Where is Kate?"

Michael points further down the rack. Her blonde hair is mostly dark red now with a spattering of black pieces. She looks up. One eye is broken; vitreous humor hangs over her cheek. Castiel removes the human from the rack and mends her. She turns to Michael, who embraces her tightly.

"Where's Adam?" she asks. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He's safe."

"Good," she smiles. Michael nods, too, looking beyond relieved.

"I was so worried," he says.

"He is in a safe place," Castiel says, "but we are not. Kate, you'll be with Adam's half-brother, Sam. I'm sorry I cannot send you directly to your heaven."

"But—"

Castiel touches her shoulder and the woman disappears. Castiel falls forward and Michael catches him.

"You aren't doing well," he notes.

"My grace is dying, and then yours, or Lucifer's, will take over," he mumbles as he steadies himself. "I have a plan."

"I know," Michael says. "Castiel, you must be careful not to burn out before you finish your plan of action. I will stay with you."

"No. You—"

"I am staying," Michael states. "You will need my help."

Castiel smiles weakly.

"We must find Dean."

* * *

Hell is dark as they wander through, poking their heads around corners for Crowley's men. Their footsteps echo and bound off the grimy walls. Castiel leads with Michael close behind. He knows Dean is close; the amulet burns on his chest. His heart pounds hard against the metal. When they come around a corner, the corridor opens up into a massive hall. There is blood everywhere. Tables of tools are overturned. There are a couple of bodies piled up in the corner of the room. It is clear that there was some sort of struggle, but at the end of the day, whoever did most of the fighting did not win.

Castiel looks down. Halfway hidden beneath the body of a demon is an old scythe. Castiel tucks it into his coat. The amulet feels like a coal on his chest. Castiel looks at it; it burns so brightly the metal is almost red. He looks up and sees a doorway near the back of the room.

"There," he says.

"What happened here?" Michael wonders.

"Dean. Come on."

Castiel runs across the room to the passage. He follows the narrow hallway as it winds and descends. The ground becomes rough and undefined. The incline steepens the further he goes. The passage widens as the walls become more like carved out stone. They round a corner again. The amulet emits a fiery glow now.

"We're close," says Castiel, showing Michael the amulet. Michael nods. They do not walk far before another twist in the corridor. It opens up widely into the mouth of a stone balcony overlooking a true pit in the heart of a cave-like chamber. Fire fills the floor, lapping up in waves at their feet on the balcony. Castiel steps back.

"It's holy fire," he says hoarsely.

"Castiel—," Michael say. He points at a figure suspended in the middle of the room over the flames hanging by chains and hooks. The figure's head hangs over his chest, but there is a deadly calm about him. Castiel walks to the edge of the balcony and grips the scalding metal guardrail. A shout catches in his throat.

"Dean?" he rasps. Dean's head shoots up instantly, as though he heard him through the crackling flames and the great distance between them. His face instantly shifts from silent fury to _what the fuck._

"Cas?" he says. Castiel can almost hear him. A smile forms on his lips.

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Same. Cas, don't come here. It's holy fire."

"I see that. Why—?"

"Castiel."

Crowley steps out from the passage behind them. Michael and Castiel spin around.

"You're early," he says. "I see you don't have at least one thing I needed."

"You will not have Adam Milligan."

"Fine. I'll find him. I really don't need him; I'm just not fond of bastards breaking out of my cells and running free."

Michael tenses and steps toward Crowley.

"Testy," Crowly mutters. "So, then, you must have some grand scheme."

"As I'm sure you do."

"Mayhaps. But it seems like you're pressed for time. Feeling a little light-headed there?"

Castiel glares at him. Crowley is not stupid, and he is not lying; Castiel feels entirely drained. His window of opportunity for the final spell is closing, and he did not count on Crowley being around to witness it, which was entirely his miscalculation. He glances at Michael, who is still fuming more than the fires behind them, and makes a last-second decision. He touches Michael's hand discreetly. His eyes go blank as Castiel's message runs into his mind. Michael frowns; he turns to Castiel as if to dispute what he just saw, but Castiel shakes his head.

Michael circles around behind Castiel, taking the demon-killing knife from him as he moves. Crowley watches them carefully, not moving from a position from which he can escape. He draws a blade of his own and points it at Castiel.

"Come now, Castiel," he says. "You're hardly in a position where you can win. You have a human, and I have all of hell. You have a pit of holy fire at your back."

"The odds are not exactly in my favor," he says. Behind him, Michael takes the knife and cuts his hand. He takes Castiel's and squeezes his blood onto the angel's palm. Castiel smiles. "But I am prepared for this."

He says a few words in old Enochian. Crowley's face contorts as light erupts from the angel's body and pierces the roof of the pit, barreling right through. The light fills the air and spreads far beyond the area they can see. It fills the water between heaven, purgatory, and hell. It rises up into the air and forces the eyes of all to close against the brightness. And when all eyes open, the earth shakes. Heaven opens and time tears at the seams. The Reconstruction has begun.

"How the _hell_—Castiel—"

"I'm not finished."

Castiel chants a string of new words. His eyes roll back into his head as rocks crash down from above them. His strength suddenly drains as his body starts to glow. It fills him, then concentrates in the middle of his torso. It rises up. Castiel falls to his knees, unable to support himself any longer. Crowley starts to laugh.

Then, several small things happen in rapid succession. Crowley runs forward already bringing the blade down on Castiel. Michael jumps in front of him, shielding the angel. The blade instead plunges into Michael's chest. His eyes go wide. A light rises up behind Michael as the man's knees start to give way. The light bursts, raining down on them, and then all the fragments converged on one spot, on Michael. His grace returns to him, fills him. He seems to grow and tower over the demon and the other angel. His many wings extend and block the entire pit from view. He pulls the blade out of his chest. Crowley takes a step back, light reflecting off a ring on his hand.

"Uh."

Michael drives the demon-killing knife through Crowley's throat, then again through the top of his head. When Crowley hits the ground, Michael buries the knife in Crowley's heart for good measure. He rips the ring off before standing up.

"Castiel. Castiel, it's done," he says breathlessly. "It wasn't part of the plan but—Castiel? Cas?"

Michael turns around. Castiel kneels on the ground, hunched over with his back to the flames. Michael extinguishes the fire before descending at Castiel's side.

"Cas—"

"I've done it," he says weakly. "I've won."

He reveals the blade of Lucifer hilt-deep in his chest.

"Crowley's dead, and so is Castiel," Lucifer says as the body changes from the former Jimmy Novak to Nick. Michael's eyes widen. He withdraws the blade from Castiel's body and holds it out.

"You—you haven't won this, brother."

"No, I think I—oh."

His eyes go wide. Castiel's face flickers back into view. Lucifer looks down. The end of a blade sticks out from his chest. The archangel falls, the last piece of his existence finally attaining death. Behind him stands none other than Dean Winchester.

"Fuck off," he says.

He throws the blade aside and kneels at the fallen angel's side again. He looks like Castiel again, and only Castiel. He does not breathe or move or flinch when Dean cups his face and raises it toward him. Dean grunts and sits back, looking away from Michael. He wipes at his face.

"Cas?" he says. Michael retreats into the shadows. Dean pulls Castiel onto him, holding him in his arms. His head rolls back and his mouth opens slightly. Blood glazes his teeth. Dean clears his throat. "Cas. Cut this out. You can't die on me now, not now. You—you can't fucking die like this a second time."

Dean adjusts Castiel's head, propping it up in the crook of his elbow. He shifts Castiel's entire body and cradles it against his chest. A tear runs down the side of Castiel's face and hits Dean's arm. He dries it quickly and stares at Castiel, hoping he will wake, but he does not move. The blood on the body is still fresh, still warm, but slowly cooling now.

"You promised me we'd talk it all through," he says in a low voice. "I get why you didn't. Crowley filled in the gaps between bouts on the rack. But… man, it still hurts. It hurts because he killed you, and Sam, and everyone else. I can't go it alone, Cas. We could've had a life—it'd have been shitty, with motels and crappy food and living out of the car—but it'd have been everything I could've given you, and I'd have given everything to have you. I'd still give anything to have you back."

Michael steps forward.

"Dean," he says tentatively.

"Not now, dickwad."

"We have to leave. This place is going to collapse," Michael says. "The spell is reorganizing the world's arrangement. We must go to higher ground."

"That island…."

"We'll go there."

Dean carefully picks Castiel up off the ground. Blood smears on his forearms as he gets a better grip on his body. Tears are fresh on his face. He looks more aggravated than anything that he cannot hide it or wipe them away with Castiel in his arms. Michael pays little attention to Dean's distress. He places a hand softly on Dean's shoulder. They fly out of hell just before the ceiling fully caves in.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Dean and Michael linger in a clearing near the top of the mountainside. They can hear the distant creaks and explosions of the Reconstruction. It seems to be an arduous, long process.

"Castiel was not certain how long he was dead," Michael says. He and Dean stare at the dead angel's body between them. "Perhaps he was dead during the entire Reconstruction then and woke only when it was over."

"Does it matter? He's not coming back."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I dunno. I can feel it. Whoever's brought him back before isn't helping now. Everything going on is because of him," Dean says. "I just can't imagine anyone coming to rescue us now."

"That's always been your problem. You lack faith."

Dean smiles.

"Yeah, well, I haven't got a lot to believe in."

"You have Sam, and you have Castiel. Isn't that enough?"

"Sure, when we're all alive and not harboring Cas's grace or any other crazy shit like that," Dean says. He shakes his head. "I don't know. You're sure I can't just put it back in him?"

"I don't know the spell," Michael replies. "It would be the reversal of whatever moved the grace into you in the first place. How did that happen?"

"Cas-from-the-future put it on me right before the battle when Cas died. When he got hit, I caught him, and—and I kissed him, like it was some last-ditch attempt to save him. Well, it wasn't a fucking fairytale, so it didn't work."

"But something did happen."

"Yeah. Some of his grace transferred to my body," Dean says. "So when Crowley stabbed me, it didn't work. I was alive because—"

"You're holding his grace," he says. "He protected you."

Dean looks away.

"I can't fucking believe this," he says. "Cas didn't deserve this. Any of this."

"He thought he did," Michael says. "He's the reason all this happened. Perhaps I'm not the right person to tell you, but Castiel will rightfully take part of the blame. But that is only because he was involved. Castiel did the best he could in an extremely difficult situation."

"I've heard that story before," Dean mutters under his breath.

"Only this time," Michael continues, "it worked without a hitch. Crowley's dead, as is Lucifer, and the world will return to normal."

"Yeah, but, he's dead. That's a hitch."

"Cas went in knowing he would die to right the world," Michael states. "There was no other way the plan would work."

Michael draws the blade of Lucifer.

"Don't tell me you're broken up over him," Dean scoffs.

"No, I am not. I only blame myself for even that much of Lucifer surviving outside of the cage," Michael says. "I shouldn't have taken his grace."

"Dude, you'd've died on the way out of hell. Adam would've, too."

Michael's lips twitch at the mention of Adam.

"How's all this gonna work out? Are we all gonna end up back on earth, carrying on with our lives? Are we gonna remember this?" Dean asks.

"Do you want to?"

"Do I want to remember Cas dying in my arms _twice_, getting tortured in hell for another couple of years, all this crap? No, thanks. My brain's messed up enough already."

"You remember what happened to you when you were alive," Michael says, "and you remember more because of the grace in you. Most likely the grace will either eventually die, or it'll leave you, and return to the Tree. You'll return to earth with Sam and carry on."

"And Cas?"

"Castiel is dead. A dead angel is a dead angel, no matter what."

Dean says nothing.

"I'm sorry, Dean. If I could do anything—I would," Michael says sadly. "I understand."

"No you don't," Dean says. "You don't. You're _Michael._ You'll live forever, and the guy you love isn't dead, so he's not going anywhere either. You'll have each other forever. Cas—maybe I started taking it for granted, him coming back over and over, but I can't fucking imagine going back to being alive and normal without him there. It's like—it's like we had this _thing_ that was always supposed to happen, but it never got the chance."

"Maybe it will," Michael says. "I still have faith someone will step in."

He opens his mouth to speak but Dean freezes. Michael gets the chance to look around in utter confusion before he freezes as well. A white calm slithers into their clearing and fills the spaces between the three bodies. It brightens into an incredible light. From the light, a figure emerges. It walks silently to Castiel's body and places one hand across his forehead; with the other hand, it touches Dean Winchester. A sharp bluish light travels from Dean across the figure's shoulders along its veins into Castiel. The figure steps back, withdraws the scythe from Castiel's coat, the ring from Michael's pocket, and waits.

Castiel's eyes flutter open. He sits up and rises as the figure slides the ring onto his bony finger.

"Am I dead?" he asks, looking down at his body.

"Yes," Death says.

"I did not think angels were reaped as humans are."

"Yes, well, it was not in the original plan, but we decided that grace, like souls, can be ferried. It is usually a very brief affair, unlike with humans, but on rare occasions something like this happens," Death explains.

"And what is that?"

"You are being escorted to the Tree," Death states. "There is someone who wishes to speak with you there."

Before Castiel can inquire as to what Death means, the ground shifts and they stand not in the jungle but on one of the massive roots of the Tree of Knowledge. Castiel stares up in total awe, the glittering fruit dangling overhead coloring the spaces between the leaves like little glowing lights, like on Christmas trees he used to see on earth. He is smiling.

"Go on," Death says. "I've still got Adam in the tower. I left him in the middle of a game of chess, and there's a bet I made I'd rather not lose."

Death leaves Castiel. He begins to walk along the root toward the trunk of the tree. The air is pure and clean. The sky is white. He turns around and lets out a strangely gleeful sound: he sees the Reconstruction taking place. He sees that his plan worked in the end.

"You did good work, Cassie," Balthazar says.

"Balthazar?"

"Not quite. I can take whatever form I want. I am in everyone."

Castiel stops walking toward his friend.

"Who are you?" he asks, his eyes wide.

"I am an old friend, Castiel," he says. His form shifts into Mary Winchester. "This seems more fitting. Mary had faith in us, always believed that we were watching over her family, even in the worst of times. She is one of my favorites, if I can have favorites."

"Are you—are you God?" he asks in a small voice. Mary turns into Chuck Shurley.

"Yes," he says. "I am. We have met before, Castiel, but I've never wanted you to remember our meetings. They're always pretty depressing."

"You brought me back, all those times?"

"Yes, and each time we met here. This time will be different, I think," Chuck says. "Let's take a walk. There's something you should see."

Castiel follows his Father around the base of the tree.

"What happens when I come here?" Castiel asks.

"We talk a little, catch up. I ask you how things are going with the Winchesters and you tell me how much you're pining after the Righteous Man. It's never anything I don't already know, but that's expected."

Castiel's face turns bright red.

"Oh, don't feel ashamed! This is what I wanted. I might be watching the show, but I wrote the script ages ago, and, sure, sometimes you guys go off and do things I don't expect, but you find a way back to the end I plan. It'd be boring if you did everything I anticipated at the beginning."

"We make it up as we go," Castiel says softly.

"You're the only angel who ever understood that that's what I wanted of you," Chuck says proudly. "You're the only one who loved humanity as much as I wanted all of you to—and you did it because you wanted to, because you chose to learn about them, not because it was an order. Castiel—you know, people say Michael was my favorite, but I changed my mind a while ago."

"I'm not worthy of any of this, Father. Please. I am sorry."

"For what? For screwing up once in a while? You're doing everything I wanted you to do, by choice," Chuck exclaims. "You're _making choices._"

"I am dead now."

"By choice," adds Chuck. "Sorry. Too soon. Anyway, Castiel, I'm taking you to your Fruit, and I'm giving you the same choice I give you every time we meet here."

"My Fruit?" says Castiel. "I don't understand."

"Your Fruit hangs on the Tree, as it does for all the other angels. It is a reward, for all the work you did for me during your existence," Chuck says. "Really, it's a test. Every angel who comes here upon death does two things: they don't recognize me, and they don't take the fruit. Why? Because their Father told them it was forbidden. They never make the choice; they default to the only answer they know, and it's infuriating. That's part of why I stepped out, Cas; I can't deal with children who refuse to learn and change."

Castiel shifts his weight uncomfortably.

"Now you… you always know who I am," Chuck says proudly. "You always make the decision not to take the fruit, and you always explain why. It's a different reason every time, since I always tell you the consequences of taking it, but you never tell me it's because of what I said ages ago."

"Father… why are you here? Why is Death here? Why—?"

"Castiel," he says, holding up a hand, "some things are menial compared to everything else. Death is doing me a favor by being the Gardener while the world was out of commission, since I helped him out when Crowley took his ring and scythe."

"He meant to draw you out to kill you."

"I know."

"What would you have done, if it came to it?" Castiel asks.

"It's not really important now, is it?" Chuck shrugs. "You fixed the world."

Chuck stops walking. He reaches up toward the fruit. One apple materializes in his hand. It is silver with a mild bluish tint. It shines like a light stronger than the brightness around them. Chuck hands Castiel the apple.

"There's your choice," he says. "Eat it, or don't. If you do, you'll acquire knowledge you'd never find in life, some of my own secrets about Creation, some secrets about yourself and the life you might have had. But it makes your death permanent. There will be no way for you to return to earth."

"Is there any way I can do that now?" Castiel asks.

"I'm a pretty capable guy," grins Chuck.

"I am curious… what do you see, for me? What do you expect me to do?"

Chuck is taken aback.

"Me? I don't expect anything of you. You've done everything I've ever wanted one of my children to do, and more. You deserve your rest now."

"I'd be here, with the other angels?" he asks. Chuck nods. "Could I ever go to heaven and see the human heavens?"

"Probably. No one really ever does," Chuck says. "But by the time you make up your mind, your friends will all be alive again."

"I know," he says. "It'd be a consolation to be able to see them again after they die."

"Is that all you want, Castiel?" Chuck asks softly. "To be with Dean and Sam?"

He truly sounds like a father talking to a young, depressed child, trying to understand his sadness. Castiel does not hesitate in his response.

"Yes."

"Then you've made your choice," Chuck says. "Same as always, though this time it's definitely not out of necessity."

"Desire," Castiel mumbles with a smile.

"Yeah, isn't it? Or maybe personal happiness is a better way of putting it. You've learned how to be human pretty damn well, kid," says Chuck proudly. His expression changes. "How about that for a choice? When you go back, do you want to be human, or an angel?"

Castiel says nothing for a long time. Chuck sits on the nearest root and watches the angel.

"You've suffered. You'll suffer as a human," Chuck says.

"But I'll suffer as an angel," Castiel says. "Suffering is necessary. As a human, at least I can experience true joy and love and happiness at better times. Suffering can be felt equally deeply by all creatures."

Chuck nods.

"You're right."

"What will happen? Will any of us remember this?" Castiel asks.

"You will, if you want, as a human or an angel, and so will Dean and Sam," Chuck says.

"And—and what about Adam?" Castiel asks. "Will he and Michael return to the cage? They made it out just after the Change."

Chuck deflates and looks away. Castiel frowns deeply.

"That boy does not deserve the hell you've given him," he says to his Father, approaching the seated figure. Castiel towers over Chuck. "If I want anything more than my own happiness, it is for Adam Milligan to get the rest he deserves. Give him life, give him death, only don't give him the horrors he has had to suffer simply because of his relation to the Winchesters. Michael—he has changed, too, Father. He wanted humanity as I did. He wanted to be with Adam as much as I wanted to be with Dean."

"Yes, that was the greatest surprise of all in recent times," murmurs Chuck. "I haven't made my mind up yet about how to deal with him."

"Do not punish them any longer. Father, please—I'll stay dead. I'll—I'll take the Fruit. There. That is my decision, so long as you swear you will change their fates. Let them be human and alive together. They do not deserve to suffer as they have."

"Are you striking a deal with me, Castiel?" asks Chuck, surprise on his face. "I had no idea the boy mattered so much to you."

"I care about him."

"Dean and Sam will never be truly happy without you, especially Dean."

"Adam will suffer for eternity. Dean and I—we had a short time together. He at least has that. Adam has nothing, and neither does Michael."

"You… you've learned well," Chuck laughs. "Now you're taking on the Dean Winchester way of self-sacrifice."

"Do we have a deal, Father?" Castiel asks, holding out his hand. With the other, he holds the apple up next to his mouth. Chuck pauses.

"Gimme a minute."

He vanishes. Castiel's arms drop to his sides. He turns and looks out at Creation again, watching the pieces shift and work together to reform the world as it once was. Castiel sighs.

_It is a marvelous view. No wonder He chooses to remain here._

Chuck reappears. He smiles.

"We have a deal."

Castiel takes Chucks hand and shakes it. He sinks his teeth into the apple. His vision whites out entirely as the flow from the apple runs through his mouth into his head. His eyes roll back and he feels himself start to fall backward, wings spread wide open. The ground does not catch him. In fact, Castiel falls for so long that after a point he does not remember what it is like to stand on the ground, or even to fly. His wings slowly burn away, but Castiel does not mind; the ashes around him add a change to the whiteness. He realizes he never finished taking the bite out of his Fruit. After a while, it hardly seems to matter to him. Nothing seems to matter—the past is behind him, above him, far away from him. The future lies on the ground, wherever it will be, and he is okay with letting it come when it does.

* * *

Adam sits at the table in the tower with Death with a chess set between them for a long time. They are close to the end of the game, or a stalemate, when another guy turns up out of nowhere.

"Hey!" Adam shouts when Death pauses the timer. "You promised no more interruptions!"

"This is important."

"You said that last time."

"This is God," Death says pointedly as he stands up and turns to Chuck. Adam stares open-mouthed. "What is it now?"

"What's the wager you've got going with the boy?" he asks.

"If he wins, I go pull him out once the Reconstruction's done and set him loose on earth. If I win, I get myself a new reaper," Death says. "Why? Do you have another bright idea?"

"I do, in fact, one where everyone wins," Chuck states. "You can thank Castiel for this," he adds to Adam.

"Cas? He's alive?"

"No, but he could be, and he's turning it down so you and Michael can be alive," Chuck explains. "If you're willing, old friend, I'm willing to pull some strings here."

"Am I willing to what?"

"Call off the bet."

"Call it off?" repeats Death.

"How does that let everyone win?" Adam demands, "Your Holiness," he adds quickly.

"Oh, I don't want any of that crap," Chuck says dismissively. "Call me Chuck."

"Chuck?"

"That's how the Winchesters knew me," he shrugs. "I want you to call the bet off so everyone can get what they want. I want to send Castiel, Adam, and Michael to earth, all as humans, all alive and well. I want to give them all full lives without memory wipes—unless you'd rather not remember and just meet Michael totally afresh."

"Nah, I'm—I'm good. I like knowing his past," Adam says.

"Yeah, that's avoiding one nasty conversation," Chuck shudders. "Good thinking."

"You must want something in return," Death says. "Spit it out."

"I want a favor," Chuck says, "of you, Adam."

"Me? What the hell can I do for you?"

"Bring me a bottle of wine," he says. "Go to the church in the town where you will find Michael, the Winchesters, and Castiel. It will be the same one where you and Castiel met. Put the bottle on the altar. Take that amulet with you. When the amulet burns hot, you'll know I'm there."

"Any preference?" Adam asks sarcastically.

"Something strong. Dessert wine, if you can swing it," Chuck says.

"What is it for?"

"Eh, I miss the booze from earth. I don't really feel like going down there anytime soon, not with all this crap going on now."

"So you're giving us our lives in return for a bottle of wine?"

"Hey, don't argue with a sweet deal."

"I'm not! Just… it's weird."

"Yeah, well, I can do whatever I want," Chuck grins. "Perks of being God, y'know?"

Adam shakes his head. "I still can't believe I'm talking to you. I've wanted to give you a kick to the nuts for a long time, but now… not happening."

"I'll consider myself lucky. Maybe that kick will be better spent on Dean; he could use a good slap most days," winks Chuck. He nods at Death before leaving.

Death wipes the table clean.

"You'd have made a good reaper," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps when your time comes, you'll reconsider total retirement."

"Aw, are you gonna miss me?" Adam teases. Death rolls his eyes, but he does not give him a proper response. Adam laughs. "You're not so bad, you know. You play a mean game of chess."

"I'm old, Adam. I've had plenty of time to practice."

"With whom?"

"God. We get together on Sundays for food and a game, since His family doesn't really come around for dinner anymore," Death says. "It's a pretty sad tradition, in reality, but we've come to enjoy it."

"You said you'd reap Him someday. You don't sound like you want to," Adam says.

Death shrugs.

"All things must die."

"Except for you. You're Death."

"Yes."

"Then maybe you don't want to be alone, just like the rest of us," Adam suggests. Death glares at Adam so intensely that he jumps out of his chair and backs away. "Okay, jeez. My bad."

"You should be on your way. Leave the tower, and you'll begin your journey downward," Death says, standing as well. He examines the back of his hand. His ring materializes on his finger, his scythe in his hand. He turns the blade over and smiles. "It's time we part."

"Looks like it. It was cool hanging with you, but I really don't hope I see you any time soon."

"Likewise."

Death turns to leave, but Adam will forever hold that he saw a flicker of warmth in the ancient figure's smile before he turned his back to him. Adam leaves with a grin on his face. When he steps out of the tower, whiteness and silence engulf him.


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue

Castiel wakes slowly. He first smells the dampness, the distinct smell of wet, dead leaves, and the remains of a rainstorm around him. He shifts and his hand hits the ground. The coldness spreads on his palm and permeates him, sending shivers up his arm. His skin prickles against the inside of his sleeve. Castiel curls his fingers, pressing the ends into his palm to generate some semblance of warmth. He feels the coldness on the back of his neck, too; a breeze makes the grass beneath his head sway and tickle his skin just above his collar.

He opens his eyes and sees a cold blue sky. The air rushes into his lungs. It is cool and light and fresh and smells sweeter than any air Castiel has ever breathed. The grass between his fingers feels more distinct. Castiel sits up, gripping the grass tightly, as though if he let go the earth would disappear from below him. He is in the same field where he last woke from death. Not far away, he can hear the familiar rumble of a car engine. His heart soars at the sound. Castiel rises from the ground and brushes the dirt off his coat. The smudges on his hands do not disappear, not that he wants them gone. Castiel wants to savor the smudges and the dirt and the imperfections.

_I'm human now._

He smiles. He can feel his face stretch and mold to the intense emotion welling up within him. Castiel starts to laugh for no reason at all. He laughs, all by himself, until tears run down his face. The happiness he feels is almost too much—he was not prepared for this. All he wanted was to feel, and now he can do nothing _but_ feel, and it is more marvelous than anything Castiel could have imagined.

"Cas?"

Castiel's heart stops and jumps and soars all at once. He turns toward his voice and finds Dean Winchester walking out of the forest on one side of the field with the usual intense expression on his face. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief.

"Dean," he says.

Castiel starts to walk toward him. Sam emerges soon after Dean. Castiel walks more quickly now. He meets Dean halfway, walking straight into his arms. Dean lets out a strangled sound and holds Castiel tightly. Castiel hugs him back with almost as much fervor.

"Cas, buddy," Dean says when he finally lets him go. "I thought we'd lost you again."

"You did, but I'm here now," he says. His voice comes out low, but not quite as low as it used to be. Dean frowns. "I'm different. I'm human."

"Human?" he repeats. "Like—like us?"

Castiel smiles and nods.

"Did you just say you're human?" Sam asks as he catches up to them. He sweeps Castiel up and hugs him. Castiel struggles under Sam's bulk to properly reciprocate the gesture. "Man, it's great to see you alive. You fixed the world, huh?"

Castiel smiles up at Sam.

"But you're now human?"

"Yes," he says. "It is a rather long story, but I feel I should explain what happened. May I make a suggestion?"

"What?"

"Can we eat, and I can explain while we do so?"

"You just came back! You're hungry already?" Dean exclaims. Castiel makes a face. "Alright, alright. There's a town down the road. We'll find a diner or something."

They start making their way across the field toward the Impala, whose motor is still running. Castiel inquires how long they have been back on earth; they tell him that they returned about two weeks prior, right where they were when the Change took place. No one remembers anything, except for them, for some reason. Castiel smiles at this.

The town looks much better than when Castiel was last there. There are people on the streets, cars on the roads, and smoke coming out the warehouse, as it should be. They park by a diner and go inside, bypassing the boy lying on the bench by the street with a newspaper over his face. He sits up lightning-fast when he hears Dean prattle on about pie as they walk by. Adam looks around just in time to see the Winchesters and Castiel enter the diner. He tumbles off the bench and scrambles through the door after them. He catches up, panting, and taps Dean on the shoulder.

Castiel's face relaxes into a smile when he sees Adam, which he does before Dean. The eldest Winchester turns around and receives a punch to the jaw. It could have been worse, but he is so caught off-guard that he falls back right into Castiel's arms. Castiel catches him and puts him right, laughing at Dean's total confusion and rage.

"What the _fuck?_"

"That's for not trying harder to kick down that damn door," Adam says triumphantly. Even Sam snickers to the side at the slack-jawed look on Dean's face. Dean looks about ready to punch Adam back, but Castiel bypasses him to greet Adam.

"Cas," Adam says with relief. He rests his hand on the man's shoulder lightly and squeezes it. Castiel smiles warmly at the boy.

"I'm glad you made it," Castiel says. "Everything worked out, it seems."

"Yeah, it looks like it," Adam says.

"Have you found him yet?"

"Nah, but he's around. I know it," Adam replies.

"Did I miss something?" Dean asks. "Since when are you two friends?"

"Jealous?" Adam smirks.

"No!"

"I was kidding. He's all yours," Adam says seriously. "Cas and I put the world back together. We had help, but it was mostly us."

"He's right," Castiel says. "Adam is my friend."

"Yeah, I got that. I've just gotta get used to that," he says, still eyeing Adam warily.

"Guys—we've got a table waiting?" Sam says. "Adam, are you coming? Cas is gonna fill us in on everything."

He looks surprised, staring at his brothers and his friend as they wait for him. Adam nods and follows them into the diner. He orders a burger, and a slice of pie. Dean still watches him, looking both scared and suspicious, and he is only calmed down by Castiel placing his hand on Dean's. Sam and Adam exchange a look and happily devour their food.

* * *

After a few hours, when the sun starts to set, they finally leave the diner. Dean and Sam talk about going back to the motel and grabbing another room for Adam, but Adam stops them.

"There's something else I've gotta do first," he says. "You guys know if there's a liquor store around here?"

They drive into the center of the town. There is a store not far from the church, ironically enough. Sam goes into the store to help Adam pick out a good bottle of dessert wine. Castiel and Dean wait in the car. Dean takes Castiel's hand in his.

"Human, huh?" Dean says softly. Castiel nods. His stomach somersaults pleasantly every time Dean's thumb strokes the back of his hand. "How's it feel?"

Castiel pauses.

"It's everything I wanted it to be, and more. It's like eating the Fruit from the Tree," Castiel replies. "I bit into it, and I had a taste, but I never ate it. So I can only imagine what it'd really feel like. That's what being an angel was like; I could only imagine what it was like to be human. Now, my curiosity can be satisfied."

"Uh, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"You know you've got an apple-sized lump in your pocket, right?" Dean says, pointing at Castiel's coat. He pulls his hand free and pulls the lump out. It is, strangely enough, the apple, silvery and shining in the golden light of the setting sun. There is a clear, full bite on it.

"Huh," Dean says.

"Strange," Castiel murmurs. "God said… I would never return to earth if I had that bite."

"Maybe he lied?" suggests Dean.

"No."

"Then maybe he just likes you and wanted you to have it all? I dunno, man. Isn't the whole point not to question the guy?" Dean says. He sounds tired. "Look, Cas, don't think about it. Whatever it is, it's done. You're here now, on earth, with us."

"With you," says Castiel. "I can be with you now."

Dean starts to smile.

"Yeah. Looks like it," Dean replies. "I like this better than what happened in that other timeline."

"So do I," Castiel says. He takes Dean's hand again. Dean instead turns Castiel's face toward him and kisses him lightly. Castiel kisses back, lingering on Dean's lips. Dean pulls away.

"They'll be back soon," he says.

"Then we can do this again later, when they're not around?" Castiel asks hopefully. Dean laughs at the look at his face.

"I'd like that a lot, Cas. God, you have no idea how much I'd love that."

Just in time, Sam and Adam return, rapping on the hood of the car.

"Got something good?" Dean asks as he gets out of the Impala. Sam flashes the bottle. "Nice. Anything for us?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam grins. "We're gonna cook tonight, right? To celebrate?"

"Yeah! Why not? It went great last time," Dean says.

"How about some marshmallows?" Adam suggests. "Cas likes those."

"Yeah? Sure, why the fuck not?"

"Cas," Adam says, "where's that church?"

"Down there," he points. "Is that where you're supposed to bring that?"

"Yeah. He told me to use the amulet, but I don't have it," he replies.

"Don't look at me," says Dean.

"I know," shoots Adam.

"I think… I have it," Castiel says. He reaches into his other pocket, the one without the Fruit, and withdraws the amulet, brass and pristine again. He hands it to Adam, Dean's eyes following the pendant all the way. "Go on."

Adam puts it around his neck. His eyes go wide.

"It's warm," he says. He starts walking toward the church, weaving through incoming traffic. He disappears into the church before Sam, Dean, and Castiel can even cross the street.

They find him at the front of the church. The bottle is on the altar. Castiel approaches slowly. The closer he walks, the more brightly the windows behind the altar shine. Castiel withdraws the apple from his pocket and places it beside the apple. He kneels on the steps and prays quietly, speaking only to his Father.

"I know why You gave it to me: you wanted me to have it all. You gave me humanity, and You allowed me to choose the knowledge. You _wanted_ me to have that knowledge, and it makes me as human as everyone else, not more perfect or more immaculate than any other person on this earth. For this, I am eternally thankful, Father. But that is all I need."

Castiel opens his eyes when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up to see Chuck standing on his right side, looking down with that same look of pride and warmth that Castiel last remembers from his time in death.

"I'm glad you understood, Castiel," he says. "You can finish eating that when we meet again."

Castiel nods. Chuck gives Adam a small wave, who awkwardly smiles back, before disappearing, taking the wine and the apple with him.

"Dude," Dean says. He walks noisily down the aisle toward them, "was that—was that who I think it was?"

"God. Yes. Or, rather, Chuck, as you knew Him. He takes many forms," Castiel says. Dean and Sam are both speechless.

"Did we forget to mention that? Sorry," Adam says. Dean glowers at him. "Shouldn't this thing have stopped burning?" he asks.

"Most likely. Is it still?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah, almost worse than before," he says.

"Michael did say that it can lead you to that which you love most," Castiel says. His eye catches a shadow at the back of the church and smiles. "I think it makes perfect sense for it to burn now."

"Wha—why?"

Adam looks past Castiel, past Dean and Sam, past all the pews and the colors raining into the church through the stained glass windows, and he understands what Castiel means. Dean and Sam step aside, understanding as well.

"Michael."

Adam is in Michael's arms almost instantly. His eyes burn almost as hotly as the amulet as he clings to Michael's neck unabashedly. Michael inhales deeply, his breath rushing out against Adam's shoulder.

"Don't you ever fucking leave me again, you hear?" Adam says. His voice shakes as he steps back to face the man. "I—if I died and never saw you again—or if you died, and I couldn't save you? I couldn't've lived with that."

"Don't, Adam," Michael says softly. He pulls him in by the waist. "I'm here, now. I'm human. You're human. We'll go places together, and we'll wander this earth, but we'll wander together. I'm never leaving you again, not now that we have this… _miracle_ of a second chance."

"You can thank Cas for that," Adam says as he wipes the tears off his face. Michael wipes some off his other cheek. "Cas saved us all. He got us this life."

"I'll give him my thanks," Michael says. "I assumed our Father must've had a good reason for favoring him so; it is clear to me now."

"Good. He's a good guy."

"He is if he kept you safe," Michael states, hugging Adam tightly again.

"Hey! You two finished snuggling yet?" Dean calls. "We've got dinner to make."

* * *

Later that night, after they cooked and feasted and laughed and drank themselves into a happy stupor, they sit back. Sam nods off on the bed with an old book in his hands. The food coma kicked in before he got through three pages. Adam and Michael step outside with Dean and Castiel.

"What's your plan?" Dean asks them.

"Not sure," Michael says. "Nothing too dangerous or exciting, I'm thinking."

"That sounds great," Adam says, rubbing his eyes. "You?"

"Eh, hunting never stops," Dean shrugs. "But it's good to know Crowley's dead. Hell might still be open, but we'll find a way to deal with it, and finding Kevin."

"And then?"

"Then? I don't think that far ahead, man."

"Right. That's a Dean thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Put away the guns, kids," Michael growls, stepping between them. "We'll see you around, Dean. I enjoyed this dinner. Perhaps we can do it again sometime."

"We'll be in touch," Dean says. They say goodnight and walk down the row of doors to the room they booked, arms around each other, Adam already half-asleep on Michael's shoulder. Dean turns to Castiel, who is also watching them with a strange longing in his eyes. "Cas?"

"Hmm?"

Dean takes Castiel, wrapping his hands around his waist, and pins him against the wall of the motel. He kisses him with strength and confidence, and Castiel reciprocates gladly. He can taste Dean so fully now. He can feel him with him with his body just as much as with his mind. He aches for more.

"Do you want to go for a drive?" Dean asks, sounding a little out of breath already. Castiel nods feverishly. He and Dean walk to the Impala, Castiel hanging on to Dean by a finger hanging onto the top of Dean's jeans. Dean swats him away playfully. "Hey, I know I'm preaching to the choir, but, patience, Cas. We'll get there."

"I know. I've waited a long time, that's all."

"Maybe I'll make you wait longer, then."

"We'll see."

Dean starts the engine of the car. The Impala shivers to life, its headlights shining briefly into the motel room. Sam's figure is still prone on the bed, fast asleep. Castiel smiles at the familiarity of it all. Dean reverses out of the space and drives away into the late night darkness.

END

**Author's Note: couldn't resist a happy ending. i hope you enjoyed it, overall! it was great fun writing this.**


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